


Resurrection

by loves_books



Category: A-Team (2010), A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Angst, Faked character death, M/M, Pre-Movie, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 01:10:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years after the team were told of Hannibal's death, he returns to their lives</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resurrection

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for wave_of_sorrow at ATeam_Prompts:
> 
> Maybe it's because the Sherlock Holmes fandom was the first one I was really, properly active in here on lj or maybe it's because I read the stories when I was really little or idk. Fact is, I've been desperate to see Hannibal fake his death to protect his boys.
> 
> The why and how I'll leave up to you, because I'm not really picky about the details of Hannibal's Reichenbach. What I'm really interested in is to see him come back several years later when it's safe to. I want to see what happened to his team; did they go on without him? did Face take over as leader of the A-Team? did they scatter? do they live separate lives now?

Putting on the uniform again for the first time in nearly three years felt like coming home. It also felt a little snug, and Hannibal frowned at himself in the mirror, breathing in a little in order to snap the last button into place.

He’d kept in shape of course, but not to army standards. The higher-ups had a three month ‘welcome back’ package for waiting for him, consisting of everything from intelligence briefings and weapons updates to basic physical training and fitness – military code for brutal and punishing workouts, designed to remake his body – and he knew he’d soon be back at peak physical condition. Studying his face, he noted his slightly fuller cheeks and the beginnings of a double chin, concealed until recently by the neat beard he had worn these last years, and vowed to lose his new soft edges as soon as possible.

All the training in the world wouldn’t be able to do anything about the extra lines on his face. Nearly three years since he had worn the uniform, a hard three years painting new creases of both stress and age onto his forehead, wrinkling his eyes a little more than before. Hannibal tried to convince himself he just looked distinguished, not old. 

Shaking his head, he dropped his hands to the sink and let his shoulders slump. Coming back from the dead after all this time, and he was worried about a few extra pounds and some new laughter lines. Not that he’d done much laughing over the last three years. Not after he found out what they had told his poor boys. Not when the promised two weeks turned into two months, six months, a year… Not when he had no way to contact them, couldn’t contact them, couldn’t put them in danger. The least he could do was keep them safe, protect them from the terrible danger they would have been in if the others had known about them, had known the truth about Hannibal and his role in everything.

He ran a hand over his ribbons, across the badges and emblems on his uniform, letting his fingers readjust to the touch of them, once so familiar, now almost alien. Coming home, yes, but also trying to adjust to the things he had done these last years, trying to pull himself back into army life, the only life he had ever really fitted into. After all the debriefings, after the mountains of paperwork, they had wanted him to take some time before coming back, to maybe do the three months of re-training before confronting his boys, even to consider if he really wanted to come back at all. No doubt at all in his mind about returning to the army, but Hannibal knew there was no way that this confrontation would get easier. No way it would ever be anything other than the most difficult thing he would ever have to face. 

He had thought about calling them, the moment it was all over. But he owed them more than a telephone call. What could he say – surprise, I’m not dead after all? It would be no easier in person but it was the least he owed them, those three men who had been closer to him than his own blood relatives for so long, two men who were brothers to him and one who could have been so much more. He and his lieutenant had been edging towards something new, dancing around the subject, exchanging touches and looks filled with more heat than ever before. Right before they had taken Hannibal, convinced him that he was the only one who could do the job. Convinced him it would only be for a couple of weeks. Liars.

Dragging himself away from the mirror, he drifted back into the bare room they had given him. Most of his things were still in storage, not that he had owned much outside of his military uniforms. Some books, a few photos. A life spent moving from base to base had given him the habit of owning little that couldn’t be fitted into a kit bag in a moment’s notice. Lying on his unmade bed was his beret, the last piece of uniform he had to put on. 

Hannibal just stared at it, stared at the emblem. Putting that beret on would make him back into the Colonel he knew he still was, but there were too many doubts running through his mind to focus. He still had no idea what he was going to say to his men. He snorted with laughter, running his hands through his recently trimmed silver hair. The great Hannibal Smith, the man with a plan for every eventuality, all at sea. Nearly three years of thinking, dreaming, wishing for the moment he could start to explain to his three boys what had happened, why he hadn’t be able to tell them anything… And still he had no idea where to begin.

In his dreams he had been able to see his men all at once. He had wondered often over the years what had happened to his team, whether Face would have taken over their leadership, but he knew that, in reality, it would have been impossible to justify giving an Alpha Unit to a Lieutenant. Most likely another Colonel or Major would have been brought in to replace Hannibal – pain stabbed through his heart at the thought of being replaced, but after three years he knew deep down that BA, Murdock and Face would have moved on. But he had always expected that the three of them would be together, would have stayed together despite the loss of their colonel. Seeing each of them separately was a scenario he had never considered, not seriously. 

Yet, that was how it was going to be. BA, they told him, was due back on base that afternoon, and Hannibal had requested to see him as soon as he returned. Barely an hour, now, until he would see the now-Sergeant Baracus for the first time, until he would have to announce that reports of his death had been greatly exaggerated. Captain Murdock was apparently off-base on a classified mission and couldn’t be contacted, but was due to return within a day or so, while he hadn’t been able to get a satisfactory answer about Face, only being told he wasn’t on base and wasn’t expected. Talk to Baracus and Murdock, he had been told, you need to talk to them. 

Hannibal hadn’t pushed. If he was honest, he was terrified to find out what had happened while he had been elsewhere. In his worst nightmares – and there had been many, especially those first few difficult months – he returned to find out that Face had been killed, that any or all of them had been killed in action. As long as they were all alive, he could deal with whatever else had happened. Even if they couldn’t forgive him, if they just wanted him to vanish back into the underworld, he just needed to see them one more time.

He wondered how they had coped with the news of his death. He flattered himself that they would have been upset, at the very least. Hannibal knew how he would have felt if one of his boys had been killed, if he hadn’t been able to be by his side at the end, to offer some comfort. It would have felt like his world had ended, though he hoped he would’ve been able to be strong for his surviving men, to carry on as best he could. How had his three boys managed? Had they been strong for each other?

Picking up the beret, he carried it in his hands back into the tiny bathroom. He met his own gaze in the mirror, staring deep into his own blue-grey eyes, wondering what changes his men would see in him. If he had any right to still think of them as his men after so long. Giving himself a mental shake, he squared his jaw and raised the beret, settling it firmly onto his head. This, at least, still fitted him as well as it had the first day he had proudly put it on. 

Looking back at him from the mirror was Colonel John ‘Hannibal’ Smith, decorated and celebrated leader of the most successful Alpha Unit in the history of the Rangers. Deceased. Now, after three long years, about to be resurrected.

* * * *

BA stifled a yawn as he headed up towards the small meeting room he had been ordered to report to. It had been a long, hard mission, but his team had managed to pull it off, and he’d been looking forward to a few quiet drinks with the guys before crashing straight into bed. Instead, he’d got back to find an urgent message which had sent him scrambling across base after a quick change of clothes. The message had been vague but sounded important, and BA was still too proud of his new Sergeant’s stripes to risk putting anyone’s back up by being late.

He’d worked long and hard to prove himself all over again, with Hannibal gone and his old, safe team going their separate ways. For a time he’d considered cutting his losses and heading out of the army again, making his own way in the world, but then he thought of all the time and effort Hannibal had put into getting him reinstated, getting him accepted as a Ranger after his stupid mistakes first time around. No way was he gonna let Hannibal Smith down.

Thinking of Hannibal gave him that old, familiar ache in his chest. The colonel’s death had hit him harder than he’d ever expected. Not that he’d ever really thought about what would happen if one of them died – it was a risk of the job, sure, they all knew that, but you didn’t think about it too much, didn’t tempt fate. But for it to have been Hannibal that went first… Man, he’d never even considered that. And for it to have happened the way it did, a stupid accident, well that was just wrong.

If he had to go, BA wanted to go out in a blaze of glory, dying for a reason, to save someone’s life maybe. For his death to matter. Hannibal had deserved all that and more, but instead it had been a pointless car accident, faulty brakes sending one of the most decorated Rangers of all time over a cliff and to a fiery death. There hadn’t been anything recognizable left of the man, and that had been the hardest thing to accept, that Hannibal had died alone and in what must have been terrible pain, for nothing.

Shaking off thoughts of his old CO as he reached the door to the meeting room, BA adjusted his uniform then knocked twice before heading straight on in. Reaching back to close the door, he started to announce himself even as he turned to face the room, spotting a tall, uniformed man stood in the shadows. “Sergeant Baracus, reporting as ordered –“

“BA?”

His brain froze instantly, along with his body. It couldn’t be, surely? But that voice, that commanding tone could only belong to one man. Almost terrified to look, he dropped his gaze to the long table rather than lifting his eyes to focus on the man stood at the other end of the room.

“BA, it’s me. It’s Hannibal.”

“No.” Dragging in a huge breath, BA felt his heart start to race. He raised his head to see the last man he had ever expected to be waiting for him. Worried blue-grey eyes watched him from a face he knew almost as well as his own. “No way, man. You’re dead. There’s no way…”

The stranger – not Hannibal, it couldn’t be Hannibal – took a step closer, edging around the table towards him. “It is me, Bosco. I know what they said, and I’m so, so sorry, I – “

“No!” Holding one hand out in front of himself defensively, BA backed up until he was flat against the door, shaking his head. The other man stopped moving, stopped talking, just stood still, waiting. Studying the tall figure, BA’s eyes finally caught up with what his ears had been telling him. Older, yes. A little heavier, perhaps, a little rougher around the edges. But against all odds this was Hannibal Smith standing in front of him, the same Hannibal Smith who had crashed into his life in Mexico and changed it for the better. The same Hannibal Smith who had been dead for nearly three years. 

* * * * *

Hannibal saw the very moment that BA realised it was really him. It was as if a fire had been lit inside the big man, all his muscles tensing as he pushed away from the door, that defensive hand squeezing into a fist. After shock, anger the first, instinctive reaction.

“Let me explain, BA,” he tried, reaching up and pulling the beret from his head, dropping it onto the table beside him. “It was never my idea, I’m so sorry. It’s so good to see you – “ And it really was; after so many years Hannibal was so happy to see one of his boys again, he couldn’t keep the smile from his face. One piece of his heart snapped back into place as he took in the man before him.

BA hadn’t changed much, to Hannibal’s relief. The distinctive Mohawk was gone, replaced by a close-cropped head of dark hair, but that carefully trimmed beard was still present, and the big guy was still built like a tank, all hard bulging muscles, barely contained by his army uniform. “What the hell, man?” Piercing, angry dark eyes glared at him, filled with more anger than Hannibal could ever remember seeing in all their years of living and working together. “You just show up here? You meant to be dead, boss. You died!” The last words were almost shouted as the other man waved an angry arm.

Heaving a sigh, Hannibal let himself slump sideways against the table. “No, I didn’t die. Undercover, BA. It was meant to be for two weeks, I should’ve been back with you all after a fortnight. But things happened, I couldn’t contact you, and then… Then I found out they’d told you I was dead, and I couldn’t…”

“You expect me to believe that?!” So much anger still, mixing with shock and disbelief. But the other man seemed to relax a little at last, fists falling loosely back to his sides even as his body remained tense.

“I don’t expect anything,” Hannibal told him honestly. “I needed to see you all, to tell you – “

“You ‘needed’?” A snort. “After all this time, what about what we needed? Me and Murdock and Face, man, when you died – Damn, Hannibal, you just about killed all of us.” The repressed emotion in BA’s voice was impossible to miss, and his heart broke a little at that. His poor boys. “And now you ‘need’? It’s like seeing a ghost, boss, I don’t even know what…” 

“I know. I know, big guy,” Hannibal soothed. He struggled to find the words he needed, to justify his reappearance now after so long. “I would never have chosen this, never, and I couldn’t contact you before now, you would have been in so much danger.”

BA shook his head again, and the colonel’s words dried up in his throat. “Just, what the hell? You died, Hannibal, you died and now you’re back? What do you want from me? From us?” 

“I… I just…” Drawing himself back up to his full height, Hannibal tried on a tentative smile again, cursing himself for not knowing how to handle this. “I just missed you boys so much. And now I’m back, and I just wanted to see you all, to tell you what happened, to find out how you are. To tell you how terribly sorry I am.”

He waited, watching the dark face for some idea of which way this was going. Apart from the tension in BA’s jaw, the other man was giving nothing away, holding himself in check and keeping his emotions under wraps. Hannibal knew this had been a shock, knew there had been no way to ease the blow, and now he just hoped his man could get over that and that they could talk this through. Hoped BA’s anger didn’t get the better of him.

* * * * *

So many mixed emotions, mainly anger and disbelief, warred for dominance in his mind. Hannibal wasn’t dead, and a part of BA wanted to scream from the rooftops in joy. But he couldn’t get his head around any of this. Hannibal ‘needed’ to see them, after so many years of silence, after letting them think he was dead? He just couldn’t believe the nerve of the man. Hannibal stood silently in front of him, waiting, watching, clearly trying to give him a chance to adjust. But how the hell did you adjust to this?

“Sorry don’t even come close, Hannibal,” he managed eventually. “You let us think you were dead, and you think you can just say sorry?”

The older man flinched at that. Hannibal Smith actually flinched. “It’s all I have. It wasn’t my idea, BA, I couldn’t – “

“No, don’t.” BA cut the other man off as soon as he started. Hannibal looked guilty, and rightly so in BA’s mind, whatever the deal really was with this whole ‘undercover’ thing. “I don’t think I can deal with this, man; I don’t even know what to say to you.” A terrible thought suddenly hit him. “You haven’t seen Murdock yet?”

The older man shook his head once, tightly. “They told me he won’t be back for another day or two. But I didn’t want to wait before seeing you. And I don’t know anything about Face.”

How on earth would Murdock cope with this? After everything the Captain had been through, BA worried this could be too much, Hannibal coming back from the dead. “You gotta let me talk to him first, Hannibal, you gotta… I don’t know how Murdock will take this. He’s not the same guy, boss. Not after losing you, losing the team.” That was putting things mildly. He watched the colonel absorb that information, clearly holding back a thousand questions, and knew he should offer more but, still torn between anger and elation, he managed to bite his tongue in case he said something he would regret later. He’d spent the last few years fighting to keep his anger under control. Hannibal’s ghost wouldn’t break him. 

“What happened, BA?” There was genuine curiosity there, and BA knew at that moment how much Hannibal still cared for them. “How have you all been? You’re a sergeant now – I was so proud when I heard.”

“Really, boss, you wanna do this now?” No, he needed time to take this in, needed to start thinking how to break the news gently to the damaged pilot. “You wanna do three years of our lives in thirty seconds?”

“That’s not what I meant, Bosco.” Was that a note of pleading in that strong voice? And Hannibal took a hesitant step towards him, one hand reaching out across the room.

“No, Colonel.” Decision made, BA needed space, air, needed to be away from this too-small room. From this impossible man, back from the dead. “I can’t do this now, I – You gotta give me some time, man. This is too much.”

“Bosco, please, let’s just talk…”

“I guess it’s good to see you, Hannibal. After so long.” And it was, but BA shook his head again, unable to deal with this now. “Glad you’re not dead, but gimme some space, man, then we’ll talk. I can’t now.” 

Turning his back on Hannibal, BA made it the two steps to the door and had one hand on the handle before a soft question stopped him in his tracks. “Where’s Face, BA?”

“Gone,” he grunted, then instantly felt guilty when he heard the shocked gasp from the man behind him. Fighting the instinct to turn back, to demand answers to all the hundreds of thousands of questions running through his head, to try and answer all the questions Hannibal must have, instead he continued on out of the room. “He ain’t army no more, Hannibal. He’s gone.”

* * * * *

The noises of jets and helicopters whirled around BA, the confident shouts of the engineers and technicians doing nothing to calm the terror he felt thrumming through his veins. Partly it was being this close to so many machines capable of flying, but mostly it was because Murdock was due to land any minute. 

He hadn’t seen the pilot in person for almost four months, although they spoke regularly on the phone, sent messages whenever they could. Different jobs despite being on the same base, meaning they rarely got the chance to spend any time together, but BA still considered Murdock to be his brother, and one of his best friends. They had been through too much together for that to ever change. 

Despite the classified nature of the pilot’s current mission, BA had been able to get a heads-up from one of the flight coordinators about his return. Years of watching Face charm and scam his way around different bases had given him a few ideas about making friends with the right people, the conman’s favourite saying always echoing in his head: “It’s not who you know, it’s how you know them.”

From across the hanger, BA caught a wave and a gesture from Captain Jackson, his inside man. Turning his eyes to the cleared helipad outside he could see the controlled chaos that preceded a landing, and resisted the urge to run screaming from the area, settling for folding his arms across his chest instead. This was going to be tough.

Murdock was back a day sooner than anticipated, and BA had barely had a chance to get his head around Hannibal’s reappearance. After he had left the colonel the previous afternoon, he had headed straight for one of the quieter workout areas on base, taking out his mixed emotions on a punch bag for several hours, long past the point when his muscles cried out from exhaustion. He still couldn’t believe Hannibal had been alive all these years, knew his immediate reaction of shock then anger must have been hard for the older man to take. Maybe if Hannibal had come back after the two weeks he said he had expected, before the team fell apart, maybe BA would have found it easier to accept his sudden return. But there had been a funeral, and they had each moved on in their own way. For Hannibal to come back now…

BA knew he owed Hannibal his entire career, hell, probably owed him his life, under no illusions where he would have ended up if he had stayed in Mexico all those years ago – either dead or in jail. So now, he owed the man the chance to explain himself, owed him the chance to ask all the questions he must have. But Murdock had the right to be there for that conversation as well. So did Face, but that was a call BA didn’t want to make. If Hannibal wanted to see Face he would have to arrange it himself, if they could even track the conman down.

The chopper was down now, and BA recognised Major Reed’s team as they scrambled from the back, seeing the medics as they rushed in. He shook his head in disgust. Another crazy suicide mission; Reed’s team had lost far too many men recently, and the Major had a reputation worse than Hannibal’s had been for taking crazy risks, without any of the Colonel’s successes to back himself up. Murdock only ever flew the really insane, dangerous missions now, the missions no other pilot would touch, and Reed had been using him as much as possible over recent months. It made a change, after two years where no CO would accept Murdock onto their team permanently, leaving him a pilot-at-large, flying whenever and wherever he could.

Spotting a familiar, skinny form jumping down from the cockpit, BA started to weave his way through the hanger. Even from this distance he could tell Murdock had lost weight again, weight he couldn’t afford to lose, and it cut BA to the bone to see how the other flight crew just worked around his friend, not really acknowledging him in any way. 

“Hey, Crazy!” he called out as he approached, and could’ve kicked himself to see the way Murdock winced visibly, helmet in hand as he turned to see who was calling him. “Murdock, man, good to see you!” And it was, despite the circumstances.

For the briefest moment Murdock’s eyes lit up, but then that now-familiar haze fell, and the pilot turned back to his craft. “Hey, Bosco. Got to do post-flight checks now.”

“It’s been months, man. Surely someone can do that for you, just this once?” He glanced over at the co-pilot, who had been listening in.

“Sure, Sergeant,” the other Captain nodded, not even glancing at Murdock. “I can take over, no problems.”

Murdock didn’t seem to have heard the discussion, let alone care about being ignored and talked over, already concentrating on shutting the chopper down and making it safe. It still killed BA to see his friend so serious, none of his old manic energy, and he even missed the bear hug that would’ve come his way before everything that happened. Before Hannibal had died, or not, as it turned out.

Stepping closer as the rest of the ground crew moved around him, BA reached out to catch Murdock’s elbow, stopping him as he worked. The pilot didn’t struggle, didn’t even raise his eyes to see who had him, just going still in that strong grip. Leaning in close, to whisper in his friend’s ear, BA murmured, “Come on, brother, come with me now. We gotta talk, us two. Something’s happened and we gotta talk now.”

Pausing for a moment, waiting for some sign the smaller man had heard him, instead he looked over to the co-pilot again, who just shook his head. “Just take him, Sergeant. He did great today, but I’ve got this now. Take him.”

With a gentle tug, BA found Murdock followed him willingly away from the landing zone, away from the ground crew who barely looked in their direction. The silence between them felt unnatural, no crazy chatter or silly accents, no funny characters, and BA never thought that he would miss all that. But he really did miss it, still unsettled after nearly three years around this new, subdued version of his friend. 

A few minutes of silence that felt like hours brought the two men back to BA’s small room. He didn’t want to break the news in a public place, didn’t want to risk the other man freaking out. In a confined space there was relatively little damage he could do, and fewer ways he could hurt himself, if it went that way, though BA prayed it wouldn’t. At least he’d caught Murdock as soon as he landed, and the pilot hadn’t heard any of the rumours. 

Hannibal had stayed out of sight, keeping away from BA last night. The colonel had sent him a brief message with some contact details and another apology, written in his distinctive, bold handwriting, though BA had stuck to his initial need for space, plus the overwhelming need to talk to Murdock first. But despite Hannibal’s caution, rumours had swiftly begun to fly around the base. Hannibal Smith was a distinctive figure of a man, and word that he had been sighted around HQ soon spread. BA found people fell silent when he passed by, but only his current CO had called him briefly to see if he had heard the news, if he was alright. It was one of the things BA appreciated most about Colonel Bradshaw – he never pushed any of his men to talk, always knew when to back off and wait for them to come to him. Much as Hannibal had once done.

Urging the skinny pilot to sit on his only chair, BA settled himself on his narrow bunk facing his friend. Murdock wouldn’t meet his eyes, staring blankly at the wall instead, slender body still yet tense. There was none of the restlessness and fidgeting that once was as much a part of the man as breathing, and BA heaved a sigh before beginning.

“It’s good to see you, man. Seriously.” A nod from Murdock. “How you been?”

“Good, Bosco, good. Docs got me on some new drugs.” Hmm, that might explain the blank look in those eyes. But at least the pilot was responding. “And I been flying more too.” Finally Murdock blinked and seemed to focus on BA. “You said somethin’ happened. Is it Face?”

“No, man. No.” Damn, he should’ve realised Murdock’s thoughts would go there first. Taking a deep breath, BA braced himself. “It’s about Hannibal.”

Murdock cocked his head to one side, that piercing focus becoming unnerving. “Hannibal’s dead.” No emotion in his voice.

“That’s what they told us, Murdock.” BA watched carefully for any sign of a reaction. Nothing. “He’s not dead, man, he’s alive. All these years, he’s been alive.”

For a moment there was still nothing, but as BA gathered himself to speak again, a spark seemed to ignite somewhere deep inside his friend. Dull eyes suddenly blazed, despite the drugs, and a note of passion appeared in Murdock’s voice. “Alive? Hannibal’s alive?”

“Yes. He’s alive. And he’s here, on base.”

“You seen him? He’s really alive?”

“Yeah, man. I couldn’t believe it, like seeing a ghost. It’s really him, brother – “

Murdock was suddenly on his feet, lithe body buzzing with energy and BA stood with him, ready to restrain the smaller man if necessary. But the pilot just stood there, staring at him for another moment before turning to the door, though he made no move to open it. “Gotta see him, Bosco. Have to see him. Can I? Now?”

“Now, man?” Running a hand over his head, BA didn’t know what to say or do for the best. Of all the ways Murdock could have reacted, this wasn’t one he had considered. On the other hand, he hadn’t seen his friend this animated for years, and could understand his need to see the truth for himself. There was no point in putting it off any longer; maybe it was time to have it all out with their former Colonel. Pulling out his phone and reaching into his pocket for Hannibal’s number, he nodded at the smaller man. “Okay man. Let’s go see him now.”

* * * * *

“Is it really you?”

For a moment, Hannibal couldn’t speak over the lump in his throat. BA had warned him that Murdock wasn’t the same man, but deep down he couldn’t picture his crazy pilot any other way than the bundle of energy he had always been, even in his down moments. Now, he saw what the big guy had meant. “It’s really me, James,” he managed eventually, staring into blank eyes, sunk into a gaunt face. “I’m alive and I’m really here.”

The skinny figure of his pilot – not his anymore, Hannibal reminded himself – just stood in the doorway, head tilted slightly to one side as he stared. BA was close by his side, and the colonel couldn’t miss the look of concern in his dark eyes as he watched his friend protectively. Murdock was still in his flight suit, wild hair sticking up in so many different directions, so familiar yet so very different. Suddenly he blinked once, twice, whispered, “Hannibal?”

“I’m here.” And suddenly Hannibal found his arms full of skinny pilot, as Murdock crossed the room in two steps and buried his face in the colonel’s chest, bringing up his arms to lock around Hannibal’s back, pressing himself as close as he could.

Dropping his chin to rest on that wild hair, he wrapped his own arms around the smaller man and held on, feeling Murdock start to shake against him. Movement caught his eye, and he glanced over to see BA sink down onto the small sofa in Hannibal’s temporary quarters, one hand raised to cover his mouth as he watched the reunion. Their eyes met and the big man just nodded, dark eyes damp with emotion. Hannibal swallowed hard and just held on, realising Murdock was mumbling into his chest.

“You’re here, you’re alive, but you died, you left us, you died but you’re here…”

“Murdock.” Hannibal pulled back a little, raising his hands to cup the captain’s face and gently urge it up until he could look into those unnervingly blank eyes. “Look at me. I’m alive, and I’m here. I can explain everything, if you’ll let me?” The question was aimed as much at BA as at Murdock, and he waited until the pilot nodded before looking over to the sofa, finding a matching nod.

Murdock detached himself with no fuss, and crossed to sit close beside his friend. Knowing how much it used to frustrate BA when the crazy man would climb all over him, instead Hannibal was amazed when the dark man draped a casual arm around Murdock, pulling him a little closer. 

“So talk, boss.” BA gave Hannibal a moment to sit down himself, facing his two boys. “What the hell happened? Start at the beginning. You said something about being undercover?”

Gathering his thoughts, the colonel nodded. “Yes. I can’t give you details of where or why –“ and BA snorted at that. “ – but it happened quickly, I had to go when they came for me.”

“They? Army intelligence? CIA?”

“BA, I can’t… I wish I could.” Murdock’s gaze drifted to the side, as if he was staring at the bed, but Hannibal pressed on. “It was important, I can tell you that much. I wouldn’t have gone otherwise. It was meant to be for two weeks, just two weeks and I should’ve been back with you. But things got complicated, really complicated, and when I found out they told you I died…”

“You were in a car accident.” So Murdock was still following the conversation after all. “You burned.”

“That’s what they told you?” Hannibal looked to BA for confirmation, chest hurting.

“Yeah, man. You went over a cliff, you died. There was a funeral and everything.” BA sighed, shaking his head. “This is so messed up. You couldn’t call? Find a way to tell us something? It’s been nearly three years, Hannibal, there was no way?”

“I was in a lot of danger, BA. If the people I was with found out anything… This is so hard to explain without giving you details…” The other man nodded at that, seeming to accept his statement. They’d all been on enough classified missions to know how difficult it could be. Hannibal was just relieved BA was listening to him today, rather than lost in his anger. “It would have cost me my life for real, and if they’d found all of you, it would have cost you yours as well. I wasn’t prepared to risk that, not for anything. And I had no way to know I would be gone for this long.”

“Okay, man, okay.” BA turned to the silent, still man by his side. “Murdock? You with me, brother?”

Nothing for a moment, then the pilot nodded, still staring at the bed. “I’m still here. Always here.”

Frowning hard, Hannibal asked the question he had longed to ask since he had been taken from his team. “What happened to you all? After?”

BA leaned back on the sofa, one arm still around Murdock’s waist. He raised his free hand to run it through his short hair, and Hannibal found himself missing that Mohawk more than ever. “What d’you think happened, man? You died. Face kept us together, fought with the General to get us some time off, then fought to keep us a team when they wanted to split us up.”

“Face was real strong,” Murdock muttered, blinking slowly.

“Yeah, man, he was.” Hannibal watched as BA clearly waited to see if the other man was going to continue, but the pilot didn’t add anything. “Was bad, Hannibal. How the hell do you think we coped?” A flash of that anger from yesterday, and the colonel completely understood that.

“I can’t even imagine, big guy.” Hannibal leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “It would’ve killed me if I had lost one of you boys.”

That seemed to settle BA again. “We kept going, boss, nothing else to do. They brought in some clown to lead us, someone tryin’ to replace you… Didn’t work out too good.” A small smile hovered on the other man’s lips, and Hannibal sensed some intriguing stories there to be told. But not now. “Face made Captain – you would’ve been proud.”

“Captain Peck.” That brought a smile to his face. A long-overdue promotion indeed, and he felt a stab of regret that he hadn’t been the one to give those new bars to his XO. But then why wasn’t Face here with them now? 

The question must have shown in his eyes, but BA ploughed on with their story. “Murdock went through a bad patch, and – “

“Thought you weren’t dead, thought I dreamed it, thought they lied, thought Face lied, thought you weren’t dead.” Those brown eyes weren’t so blank now, and Hannibal felt the full force of the younger man’s emotions unleashed as Murdock locked eyes with him. “Drugs. And the docs made me believe it again. That you were dead. But you aren’t dead.”

“Murdock – “ Hannibal started, but BA spoke over him, tightening his arm around his friend.

“Easy, man. Turns out you were right, but at the time…” 

Gods, what kind of damage had he done to his fragile captain? Watching two of his men struggling in front of him, one angry yet strong, one so clearly shattered, pieces put back together in the wrong order, for the first time Hannibal began to regret his selfish decision to come back. What had he thought would happen, they would all just be waiting for him with open arms? That they would all accept what had happened and welcome him? “I’m so sorry, Murdock. I’m so, so sorry.”

“That don’t help none, Hannibal,” BA snapped. “You can’t change it.”

Closing his eyes for a second, he had to acknowledge that fact was true. He couldn’t change anything that had happened, but he could certainly try to help from here on. “They split you up?”

Clearly swallowing his anger, the sergeant nodded, eyes still on his friend. “They had no choice. Murdock couldn’t fly, couldn’t do much of anything for a while, right man?” No sign the pilot even heard him, back in his own world and staring over Hannibal’s shoulder. “Face and me ended up on separate Alpha Units, but he started struggling again. Got into fights, got caught up in some seriously dodgy deals. Like it just hit him later than it hit us, that you were gone.” BA hesitated, and Hannibal wondered what he was trying to say. 

“BA?”

“I never knew for sure, man, you and him… None of my business, don’t ask, don’t tell…” Oh. Hannibal swallowed hard. “He just fell apart, quit one day before they could lay a court martial on him. Just left. It was one year to the day since you… since they told us you died. Figured he just couldn’t cope no more, without you. He stayed long enough to get Murdock back on an even keel, to see me settled in my new unit.”

The sympathy in BA’s eyes was unexpected, and Hannibal fought back unexpected tears. His poor Face. He needed to see him, needed to make this right with him as well as with Murdock and BA. “Where is he now, Bosco?”

“Honestly, Hannibal, I don’t know. I got an email address for him, and he calls sometimes. Haven’t heard from him in months.” Another pause. “Think he’s into some bad stuff, boss.”

“Facey’s wheelin’ and dealin’ and dodgin’ and runnin’…” Murdock giggled, sending a chill down Hannibal’s spine as BA hushed him gently.

“There’s so much I’ve missed.” And that didn’t even begin to cover it. He struggled to find the words to start healing the bridges he had burned. That had been burned for him. “With all of you, everything that’s happened to you. I want to know everything, and I want to help if I can, if you’ll let me, with whatever you need, whatever Face needs. I know it’s going to take some time for you to start to trust me…”

In unison, both the men before him nodded, Murdock’s eyes focussing on Hannibal for the first time in a while. “But you’re really here, and that already helps,” he said, sounding more connected than he had all afternoon. “You aren’t dead. That’s the best thing in the world.”

And the small smile that hovered on Murdock’s lips, coupled with the beginnings of acceptance in BA’s eyes, gave Hannibal some hope that they could get through this. Time would tell.

* * * * *

Some things hadn’t changed at all, Hannibal mused, as he leaned against the windowsill watching BA dismantle a motorbike on the driveway. Sipping at his coffee, he could hear Murdock making airplane noises in the next room, and couldn’t keep the smile from his face, wondering at his luck, thinking over the last two weeks. Two weeks in this small house, two weeks of talking and living and just being together off base, had started to heal the rift between him and his former team. Or two thirds of his former team, at least.

It had been an unexpected fight to get BA released from duty. The big guy’s current CO – Colonel Bradshaw, who Hannibal remembered as a promising Major with a sensible head on his shoulders – had been reluctant to spare his sergeant, about to head straight out on another mission. Bradshaw had been brutally honest with Hannibal, leaving him in no doubt as to how valued BA was in his new team, and how hard the younger man had worked for acceptance and for his promotion. But eventually the other Colonel had agreed, realising they had some issues to work through, and understanding that maybe BA’s head wasn’t quite in the right place for a mission. And together they had headed here, to this impersonal, rented house.

* * * * *

That first evening, after that emotionally draining conversation with his two men, Hannibal had got BA to email Face to call him urgently. They had called the last number Face had phoned from, all those months ago, only to find it disconnected. They had emailed again and again since that night, writing everything but the fact that Hannibal was alive. No response at all.

* * * * *

Murdock was buried so deeply inside himself that, at first, Hannibal hadn’t seen any way to bring him back out. But the pilot still had his moments of crazy, animated energy – ask him about the missions he had flown recently, and the aircraft he had been asked to test, and that familiar spark came back into his eyes. Even though no team was willing to sign up Murdock permanently, Hannibal was pleased to see his skills were appreciated and that he was still able to fly.

The first week they are at the house, three separate team leaders call to ask Murdock to fly for them. The captain actually goes out for one, an overnight mission he can’t talk about afterwards, but Hannibal can see from the small smile on his face that it was a good one. It puts his mind at rest a little, to see the army has taken care of his damaged, broken man. To see he is happy in his work, and happy in his own mind at times.

* * * * *

They email Face again, and again. With BA’s permission, Hannibal sets up a tracker on his phone, as well as on the house phone, and uses the connections he still has to rig up an electronic tracer that will track any emails to within a few metres of their point of origin. Word of his ‘resurrection’ has spread fast in army circles, and old friends he hasn’t spoken to in years call to catch up, to ask where he’s been and how he is now.

But the one person he wants to speak to more than anyone still doesn’t call.

* * * * *

They spend most of their time together, talking or not, just living in each other’s space again. Neither Hannibal nor BA have ever been men of many words, but one night, with more than a few beers between them, they both speak openly about their fears and anger over the situation. Hannibal reveals how terrified he was that one of his boys could’ve lost their life while he was ‘dead’. He tells the big man honestly that, of all of them, he would’ve expected Face to be the one thriving in the army without him, always worrying that he had held his Lieutenant back. That, if any of them were to have got into trouble and left the army, he would have thought it would be BA. Not Face.

BA can accept that, speaking honestly in his own turn about his desire to honour Hannibal’s memory and make everything they had been through count, even without his Colonel there to see it. He wants to make his Mama proud. He tells the older man more about his anger, how mad he had been that Hannibal had been killed in such a pointless way, and then how furious he had been initially to see that he wasn’t dead after all, had been alive all those years. How he had been confused and angry and so, so mad all at once.

And Hannibal can accept that. Their talk stretches into the small hours of the morning, and they eventually part ways with a tight, close hug. Maybe it was the beer, or maybe they were just brothers once more.

* * * * *

Face is on his mind most of the time. His wonderful, handsome boy, breaking eventually under the stress of Hannibal’s ‘death’. He grills both BA and Murdock, when the pilot is talking, about what exactly happened, but details are sketchy, neither of them really understanding what was going through their friend’s mind, nor knowing the extent of the shady deals he had got mixed up in before he quit the army so abruptly. None of that surprises Hannibal in the slightest. He knows all too well how Face can shut down completely, showing only what he wants you to see and nothing more.

More than anything, Hannibal wants to go search for Face. Wants to tear apart the country looking for him, but where on earth would he start? He calls the kid’s orphanage, calls every priest and nun Face ever spoke fondly of, not that there were many. He even calls Sosa, the longest of all long shots. No one has heard from him or seen him since he left the army, but all promise to call him if they hear anything.

Hannibal knows that, if he really wanted to, Face could reinvent himself in a heartbeat. A name changed, a few charming smiles in the right places, a few carefully crafted scams and Templeton Peck would disappear for ever, being replaced by someone new. But he can’t bring himself to give up hope. Face hadn’t cut off communication with his former team mates, and Hannibal has to have faith that, sooner or later, he will call. He has to call.

* * * * *

He sits with Murdock one afternoon, still unnerved at the way the pilot is so completely still and focusses so intently, watching some Disney film they found abandoned under a desk by the house’s previous occupiers. The plot is fairly standard Disney-fare, some British thing about a flying nanny and some chimney sweeps, one of whom does a pretty bad imitation of a cockney accent. Hannibal nearly jumps out of his skin when Murdock starts copying the actors, in a far more impressive accent, before going off on a riff about different Disney films and which ones are best and what other films have live action mixed with animation, and Hannibal is so relieved to see his friend back to his old self for a moment that he loses himself as well, laughing along and making up silly words to the cheerful songs as they giggle together on the sofa.

* * * * *

And so the weeks pass, with Face’s absence a gaping hole in their renewed friendship. Hannibal’s dreams, or rather nightmares, are filled with images of his boy caught up in terrible danger, or visions of him sick and alone, unable to call anyone. Before Hannibal had been taken – and that, he finds, is how he has been thinking of it since he returned from the dead – the two of them had been edging ever closer to defining their complicated relationship, spending even more time alone together as a pair, little touches and meaningful glances, even going so far as to sleep in the same bed when there was really no need. The memory of Face’s strong, warm body pressing against his own had kept Hannibal company in the darkest of his undercover days, but they hadn’t quite taken the next steps.

Shaking himself out of his daydream, Hannibal sips at his cooling coffee, marvelling at the pile of engine parts growing on the drive. How BA remembers where everything goes is beyond him, and he smiles when the big guy’s hand suddenly seems to stop, hovering over his tools, as if he could tell the colonel had his doubts. But then BA is on his feet, pulling his phone out of his pocket as fast as he can, and Hannibal drops his mug as he runs towards the door, hearing it shatter as his heart starts to pound.

He practically falls out onto the driveway, as BA is virtually shouting into the phone. “Face? Face, you there, man?”

Resisting the urge to rip the phone out of the other man’s hand, Hannibal manages to contain himself until BA lifts the phone from his ear, staring at the screen. “Was it him? Bosco? Was it?”

“Yeah, Hannibal, it was him,” BA replies absently, poking at the phone before lifting it back to his ear. “He got cut off, or hung up… There was some shoutin’, noise in the background… Damn, nothing. Not even voicemail.”

This time Hannibal does snatch the phone, pressing the redial button himself and listening to the endless ringing. “Come on, Face. Pick up the damn phone,” he mutters, turning to walk back into the house with BA close on his heels. “What did he say?” he asks as the phone cuts itself off automatically, pressing the redial again.

“Said it was him, said he got the messages, then nothin’. Like I said, some shoutin’ and noises, man, I couldn’t hear what.” BA doesn’t even try to disguise his worry.

Murdock appears as Hannibal thumbs the redial for the third time, drawn by the shouting and broken mug. “Is it – ?” At Hannibal’s tight nod, he turns and goes for the house phone. “The tracker, maybe they got him. I’ll call, boss, you keep tryin’.” 

And that is all Hannibal can do, listening to that ringing, wondering what Face is going through at that very moment, if he can hear his phone ring. If he knows, somehow, that Hannibal is calling for him. Praying that the tracker will have done its job.

* * * * *

Sitting on the low wall outside this rundown apartment block, Hannibal feels strangely calm as he takes another drag on his cigar. He had thought, for a few brief minutes, about waiting inside but the bare, virtually empty rooms had been so depressing that he couldn’t bear it. If it weren’t for the single framed photo of their team, taking during their last deployment in Iraq before everything went so wrong, he wouldn’t have been able to believe that Face was living here. 

Hannibal remembers the moment the picture had been taken, catching the four of them off guard as they sat around a campfire one evening. BA was caught in a rare moment of full laughter, head thrown back, while Murdock had clearly been doing an impression of some kind, his face twisted in a comical manner, hands waving about his head. Face had a beer bottle raised and a huge smile on his lips, leaning forward from his position cross-legged on the floor, with Hannibal sat just behind him, eyes focused on his Lieutenant. The two of them looked so close there; it was no wonder Face had chosen that particular photo to keep with him in this strange new life.

The tracer on BA’s phone had worked perfectly, giving the three men a location and even letting them track Face’s phone for a short time before his signal vanished. Hannibal was fairly certain that the technology used wasn’t entirely legal, but had never been more thankful for the connections he had built in his previous army career, and their willingness to help now. It turned out Face hadn’t run far from what he knew – the kid was in LA, and Hannibal had wondered for a moment whether he really hadn’t been in contact with anyone from his past, then realising that he had no right to assume anything about what Face had been thinking or feeling.

Once they knew roughly where Face had been, Hannibal had been on the first flight out, his three month retraining programme on hold until things were settled. BA had wanted desperately to come, despite the flight, but had eventually agreed to Hannibal’s pleading to let him handle this by himself, going back to work with his new team, even as Murdock reluctantly did the same. Both of them were only a phone call away if needed, and so Hannibal had started the search for his missing boy alone.

In the end, it had been easier than he’d expected, leaving him wondering if Face was really trying to hide or just surviving any way he could. Hannibal used everything he knew about his former Lieutenant, asking a few subtle questions in coffee shops and dry cleaners in the rough area, and had gotten lucky in less than a day, being pointed towards this shabby block of apartments. It wasn’t a bad area, but far from the best, and several of the apartments were long since abandoned. It was the work of a few minutes to figure out exactly where Face was staying, a few questions asked of suspicious residents, and lock picking skills the man in question had taught Hannibal years before.

And so now Hannibal sat on this wall, counting down the minutes until he would see the last of his men again after nearly three years. He knew, realistically, that Face may not even return to this place every night, knew if he was mixed up in something bad – as every instinct in his body told him – that he might be held up elsewhere. The tracker on BA’s phone had automatically recorded the too-brief call, and Hannibal could’ve cried the first time he heard Face’s voice again after so long, but he hadn’t been able to make out anything from the indistinct shouts in the background before the call had been abruptly cut off. He’d tried desperately not to imagine the worst.

Movement down the sidewalk brought Hannibal’s focus back to the here and now. Footsteps. Not the best area, certainly, few streetlights working and more than a few young thugs looking for trouble, but Hannibal had spent his life in far worse places than this, especially over the last couple of years, and carefully projected an aura of ‘leave me the hell alone’. But something about the rhythm of those approaching footsteps brought his head up and around, even as the other person staggered slightly, pausing to lean against the building for a second before carrying on.

Unfolding himself from the wall, slowly stretching his cramped muscles, Hannibal gave in to the urge to speak. “Face?” The shadowy figure – tall and lean, dark clothes giving nothing away – froze completely. 

“No fuckin’ way…” Those whispered words erased any doubt in his mind. This was Face in front of him, at long last, and Hannibal’s heart leapt into his throat as the other man took another step forward, bringing him under the weak yellow glare of a streetlight. 

Dressed in black jeans and a black leather jacket zipped up to his neck, hands buried deep in his pockets, Face looked haggard in the unnatural light. The left side of his face was bruised and swollen, that eye virtually closed, and Hannibal’s practised eye could see the younger man was holding himself in the tense way that spoke of a recent beating. But, despite the bruises, Face was every bit as beautiful as Hannibal remembered, curls slightly longer than he used to wear, sculptured cheekbones a little more prominent.

“It’s me, Face. Don’t run, please.” Hannibal held out one hand, tentatively, towards the other man. Face just stared at it, not moving.

“No way. I’m not that gone, I mean…” There was a slur to the other man’s words and, daring to step a little closer, Hannibal was hit by the smell of alcohol as Face swayed on his feet. “Not had that much tonight. I’ve not…” Shaking himself, he turned to go into the building, blanking Hannibal completely.

Still not daring to touch, still amazed by the fact that this was really and truly Face in front of him, Hannibal shifted quickly to get between him and the door. “I’m really here, kid. It’s me, I’m here. They lied to you all, I didn’t die – “

“No!” More forceful now, slightly unfocused blue eyes snapped up to meet his. “If you’re really here… No, you died, you left us, Hannibal… You left me… You…” The drunken slur in his voice became a near-sob, and the colonel longed to just take his boy in his arms, but Face staggered back a step, dragging hands through his messy hair. “You wouldn’t fake it, wouldn’t make me - ”

“It wasn’t my choice, Face, kid, please…”

“You left me.” Those hands clenched into fists, and Hannibal automatically tensed as Face took a swing at his jaw. Drunk as the kid was, there was still a fair amount of power in it, though for Hannibal it was easy to catch that fist in his palm, twist up and around to bring Face in close, chest to back, pinning the younger man’s arms to his sides. 

“Easy, Face,” he soothed, lips close to the kid’s ear, as his boy struggled weakly. Sober and at his best, Face would’ve been out of that hold in a heartbeat, but after a few minutes he went limp, head falling back to rest on Hannibal’s shoulder, anger spent for the moment.

“You can’t be here,” Face whispered, breathing hard. This close, the smell of alcohol was almost overwhelming. “Miss you so damn much, boss… Miss you…”

Squeezing his eyes shut for a second, fighting the threatening tears, Hannibal leaned down to press a careful kiss to Face’s forehead, above those bruises. “Oh, my boy, I missed you so much. But I’m here now.” He gently rocked Face against him as the younger man grew heavier in his arms. “Let’s get you inside, hmm?”

Face put up no resistance as Hannibal wrapped an arm around his waist, manoeuvring him in and up the echoing stairwell to that terrible little apartment. By the time they got in, the younger man was virtually out for the count, but he stirred again as Hannibal carefully eased him down to the bed and turned him gently onto his side. Cold fingers reached out to wrap around Hannibal’s wrist, and those dull blue eyes fluttered open for the briefest moment. “I’m dreaming?”

“No, sweetheart.” The word slipped out without Hannibal’s leave, but he swallowed and pressed on, daring to brush his free hand through Face’s soft hair. “You’re not dreaming. I’m here and I’m not leaving you, not like this.” Never again, if he had any say in it.

A small nod as Face finally gave into the lure of drunken sleep. “’S a good dream, boss…”

Even asleep, or unconscious more likely, those long fingers didn’t loosen their grip, and Hannibal hesitated only a second before stretching himself out on the bed alongside his boy, mixed emotions whirling through his mind. This was far from how he’d imagined their reunion, but Face was here, was alive even if a little battered, and whatever his boy was mixed up in, Hannibal swore to himself that he would try to fix it. 

Tomorrow. They would start afresh, tomorrow.

* * * * *

The pounding of his pulse behind his eyes was the first thing that woke him, along with a screaming bladder. Lying as still as he possibly could, cracking one eye open cautiously, he carefully took stock of his situation. His own room, at least, meaning his own crappy little piece of Los Angeles, and no sign of anyone else in his bed. So he came home alone, for once, and that wonderful little dream really had been just that, a dream.

He felt that old, stabbing pain in his chest at the memory. He didn’t really remember getting into his apartment last night, certainly didn’t remember taking off his boots or his jacket, though apparently he did. But he remembered that vision of Hannibal, standing there so tall and handsome and telling him he was alive, that it was all a mistake. Squeezing his eyes shut tightly again as the bed seemed to sway beneath him, he gave in to a moment of self-indulgence, deciding his protesting bladder could wait a few minutes.

He hadn’t thought about Hannibal so much over the last few months, managing to finally push his grief and loss to the back of his mind. So much left unsaid between them, so much he’d never get to say to the most important person he’d ever had in his life. Recently he had finally thought he was moving on, out of the army and as busy as he was, but seeing him again last night… God, would he miss the man forever, would this hole in his chest never heal?

Another twinge from his bladder finally forced him into action, his head spinning and stomach turning over threateningly. Slowly, slowly he levered himself up until he was sitting on the edge of his bed, all the aches and bruises from a couple of days ago making themselves known once more. The side of his face throbbed in rhythm with his head and he gingerly probed his swollen eye with one finger. If it didn’t feel better tomorrow he might have to actually see a doctor. But not today, he had too much to be doing today, and he’d already wasted most of the morning judging by the amount of light in his room.

Tensing sore stomach muscles, he managed to haul himself to his feet and stagger along the corridor into his bathroom. Wincing as the harsh overhead light snapped on, he positioned himself in front of the toilet and soon was heaving a sigh of relief. He swallowed down a wave of nausea and decided he needed coffee and fried food, fast. Then he could get to work. He had to get those papers done today or he would be in even more trouble than previously. Marcello was back in town tomorrow.

As he splashed water onto his face, the sound of someone moving around in his kitchen reached his ears. All senses suddenly alert, army-honed instincts snapping to the fore, he pushed his hangover aside and listened carefully, wondering just who the hell he had brought home this time, man or woman. Usually it was older men, similar in height and build to the man he had never really had, but when he was drunk, he knew more often than not that he rarely ended the night alone. Anyone was better than the no one he actually had.

On the other hand, had someone willing come back with him looking like he did at the moment? He’d made more than a few enemies recently, but he still had time left on his latest job. He wished fervently that he hadn’t left his bedroom without the small gun he kept in the bedside table, and wondered briefly if he could make it there before the stranger knew he was awake.

The delicious, wonderful, healing smell of coffee reached his nostrils and he decided that, whoever was out there, they clearly didn’t mean him any harm if they had made that miracle beverage. Staring briefly into the mirror, he winced at his haggard, bruised reflection, hair sticking up in all directions, then shrugged. It didn’t matter what he looked like, the other person would be gone soon enough. Pushing off from the sink, squaring his shoulders, he walked as steadily as he could out of the bathroom and into the kitchen.

“Morning,” he grunted, dropping carefully onto one of the stools at his collapsible dining table.

The sight of the man stood with his back to the room nearly took his breath away. Just the right height, hair the perfect shade of silver, those shoulders… For a moment his vision blurred with tears and it was Hannibal stood before him, it was Hannibal turning to him with a mug of coffee, it was – 

“Oh god…” 

And it really was Hannibal, pulling out another stool and sitting opposite him. The older man offered him a nervous smile as he slid a mug across the table towards him. “Morning, Face.”

* * * * *

The kid looked terrible, pale and bruised and clearly hung-over, sitting in shock at the table in front of him. All Hannibal could think to do was nudge that mug of coffee closer and sip at his own, waiting for some sort of response to his presence. Prepared for any eventuality.

Clearly buying himself time, or just needing the caffeine, Face wrapped both hands around the proffered mug and took a huge mouthful, bloodshot blue eyes never leaving Hannibal’s face. He winced as he swallowed. “Yuck, instant coffee,” he complained, in a tone so familiar the older man felt his heart expand. 

“It was all you had,” Hannibal explained, fighting his smile as the kid took another sip, a look of absolute disgust on his face.

“There’s a decent coffee shop around the corner, though.”

Nodding – were they really talking about coffee? - Hannibal decided to go with it for now. “I didn’t want to leave, in case you woke up.” He’d wanted to make some breakfast for them both as well, knowing Face would be craving fried food to soak up some of that alcohol, but there was little in the way of food in the apartment. Instant coffee was the best he could offer. “I wanted you to see I was really here.”

“Yes, you are.” Completely inscrutable, Face was watching him carefully, elegant hands wrapped around his mug. “How are you here?”

“I… Face, I don’t know where to start, kid.” Swallowing hard, he tried to compose himself. “I went undercover, it happened so fast – “

“So fast you couldn’t tell me?” 

“Yes.” Hannibal paused, waiting for Face to respond, waiting for anything, but even hung-over the kid had the best poker face he had ever seen. “It was only ever meant to be a couple of weeks, but things happened, things went wrong. I couldn’t contact you, I was in so deep, and you all would have been in so much danger.”

“Let me guess, you can’t tell me where you were? Or what the danger was?” The first hint of emotion there, an undercurrent of anger buried beneath a sarcastic tone. 

“If I could I would. You know how these things work. I’ll tell you what I can.” A snort from the younger man, hidden quickly as he sipped from his cooling coffee. “Face, I… It’s so very good to see you. I’ve missed you so much.” 

“They told us you died.”

“I know. I never wanted that, but I couldn’t change it.” Face’s lack of emotion was starting to scare him a little. “Kid, I don’t know what you’re thinking,” he confessed. “Give me something to work with here. I know this is a surprise – “

“A surprise?” Pushing up out of his chair, slamming the mug down on the table, Face dragged hands through his hair, glaring down at Hannibal through his one good eye. “No, Hannibal, this isn’t a surprise! A surprise would be cake after a bad day at work, or an extra hundred dollars appearing in your bank. Not you coming back from the dead!” Wincing at his own raised voice, Face lifted a hand carefully to rub at his forehead, avoiding the swelling around his eye, before carrying on in an angry hiss. “And you want to know what I’m thinking? Jeez, boss, I don’t even know what I’m thinking! What the hell am I supposed to be thinking at this moment, tell me that?”

Recognising the growing hint of desperation in his boy’s voice, Hannibal spread his hands flat on the table, leaning forward slightly. “I don’t know what to say. There’s nothing I can say to make this easier, except I’m sorry and I’m here now. And I missed you.”

That seemed to deflate the younger man a little. Dropping his hands to his sides, Face heaved a shaky sigh. “Oh, I missed you too, Hannibal, too damn much. I grieved for you, we all did. Losing you…” He shook his head slowly, running out of words.

For a full minute they just stared at each other, taking each other in and just breathing. Hannibal still couldn’t believe that after nearly three years he was really in the same room as Face, and just drank in every last inch of his beautiful boy. His former lieutenant had lost weight over the years, looking more slender than Hannibal could ever remember, although he had been relieved to see, going through the apartment in the early morning light, a familiar array of beauty products in the small bathroom. Whatever Face was into, he was at least taking care of himself.

The silence stretched on, but eventually something seemed to break in the younger man. His shoulders slumped and he swallowed heavily, shaking his head again. Hannibal pushed slowly up from the table and stepped away from the stool, just as Face took a step forward and all but fell into his arms, forehead coming to rest on Hannibal’s shoulder. 

“I’m here, kid.” He brought his arms up and around Face’s back, pulling the younger man as close as he could. “I’m really here. Whatever’s happened, whatever you’re into, we’ll sort it out. If you’ll let me help.” Savouring the warm body in his arms, he could feel Face’s chest heaving against him and thought for a second he was crying, a hot flash of guilt shooting through him at the notion. In all the years he had known the kid, he barely remembered ever seeing tears. 

But then Face pulled back a little, lifting his head to look Hannibal in the eye, and he was actually laughing, a bitter, twisted sound. “You’ll sort it?” he gasped. “Boss, you have no idea… I mean, honestly!” 

“Then talk to me, kid. Help me understand.” Face just dropped his head back to Hannibal’s shoulder with a soft noise as his laughter ran out, hands fisting into the colonel’s shirt. 

“I’m not the same person I was, Hannibal. And I bet you aren’t the same person you were, how could you be after two and a half years?” His words were muffled into Hannibal’s shoulder, but the hurt in them was still crystal clear. “You don’t know me anymore. You went and died on me, and I changed, we all did – “

The harsh ring of a mobile phone sounded through the apartment, and Face jumped as if he’d been shot. Hannibal tightened his arms automatically, figuring his boy’s hangover was still pretty raw, but the kid immediately tried to pull away. “Easy, easy…”

“I have to get that.” Face pulled away and out of his arms, moving quickly out of the kitchen and through to his bedroom. Hannibal drifted instinctively after him, unwilling to let him out of his sight, especially when he felt they had been so close to discussing whatever was really going on in Face’s life. But the kid stopped in the doorway, turning back with one hand held out to stop Hannibal following him in. “You mind, huh?”

Raising his hands and stepping back, he watched Face shut the door, then immediately stepped closer, pressing his ear to the wood, quelling the flash of guilt at crashing back into the kid’s life just to eavesdrop at his door. After a second the ringing stopped.

“Yeah, it’s me… Yeah… Yeah, I know, okay, Marcello’s back tomorrow…” A long pause. “No, Rick definitely said he was back tomorrow, man… Well, I can’t get it done by this afternoon, there’s no way… No, man, something’s come up, an old friend… No, of course he doesn’t know…” Frowning, Hannibal could hear the defensiveness in his former lieutenant’s voice, and wondered just who Marcello was, and what Face couldn’t do in time. “Look, I can’t work fucking miracles, what do you expect me to do?... Hey, there’s no need for threats, man, when have I ever let you down?... Gray? You there, man?” Nothing for a long moment, then a hissed, “Shit!” 

Hannibal moved quickly away from the bedroom door and back into the kitchen as he heard Face start moving around the bedroom. Sipping again at his lukewarm coffee, a minute later the younger man reappeared, buttoning up a clean, crisp white shirt, but Hannibal had to hide his wince at the fading bruises visible on that toned chest. 

“Everything ok?” he asked carefully, watching Face move quickly around his apartment, picking up a wallet, some keys, removing a sheaf of paperwork from a drawer.

“I have to go. A deadline got moved.” They were back to no emotion again, Hannibal realised with a pang.

“You really gonna try to convince me you work in an office now?”

“Well I do look damn fine in a suit.” The banter was so familiar, it was as if the years had fallen away and they had never been apart, and if Hannibal hadn’t been so very worried about the man in front of him he would have been grinning from ear to ear.

“Face, we need to talk. You can’t just leave – “

“I have to go right now, I have to work, boss.” Finally stopping his frenzied movements, Face looked at him squarely, a small smile hovering on his lips. “Besides, I need some decent coffee and something fried.” 

Again, the moment stretched between them, and Hannibal felt at a loss for words again. Face was still Face, guarding his emotions and his personal life behind a carefully projected façade. As he searched for the words that would make this infuriating man stay, Face beat him to the punch.

“I really have to go, but I’ll be done late this afternoon. You’ll be here?” A carefully blank face, but Hannibal could read the need in his boy’s eyes.

Trying to put every good intention he had into his words, he told Face, “I’ll be right here, kid. I promise, I’m not leaving you again.” 

That seemed to satisfy the younger man, and he nodded once before bursting into motion again, taking that bundle of papers and heading straight out of his apartment, trailing a warm hand across Hannibal’s shoulders as he did so. “Tonight, then, Hannibal. We’ll talk, and you’ll tell me what you can.” 

And he was gone, the tiny apartment suddenly seeming darker and colder to Hannibal. Taking a deep breath, he counted to twenty before grabbing his jacket and following Face.

* * * * *

It was getting late, long past the time that could be considered ‘late afternoon’, as Face had promised. The slightly sick feeling in Hannibal’s gut hadn’t stopped growing since he’d lost sight of the kid shortly after lunch, when Face had disappeared into a warehouse with several other men. It had taken everything he had not to chase in there after his boy, but he had to remind himself he had to respect Face’s boundaries, couldn’t give the younger man any reason to push him away, had to prove himself trustworthy, in Face’s mind, all over again.

He kept telling himself that he didn’t know for sure that Face was in trouble. Those men had shaken his boy’s hand, after all, before leading him inside. Face hadn’t been kicking and screaming. 

But BA had thought he was into something dangerous, and Hannibal had to agree. The phone calls, both to BA and that overheard conversation this morning, the bruises, the drinking… No, Face was into something, and Hannibal was going to sort it out all, whether or not Face liked it. Although he knew that the first thing they had to do was talk everything out, his stint undercover and everything that had followed, and Hannibal took another swig of his beer, forcing himself to stay seated at Face’s dining table rather than pacing as he wanted to. This wasn’t going to be an easy conversation.

Eventually, Hannibal heard a key turning in the door, and heaved a mental sigh of relief. Face hadn’t run away, nor had he been detained too long by whatever ‘business’ he was into. 

Face appeared in the doorway, folding his arms across his chest in a manner Hannibal recognised as defensive. “I still can’t believe you’re really here,” he stated with a soft sigh, blue eyes shining. Hannibal was pleased to see the bruising on his face looking a little less vivid, but his boy looked completely exhausted.

“I really am, kid,” Hannibal smiled a little. “Though to be honest, I still find it hard to believe myself.”

“Let me grab a shower and then we can talk, ok?” 

“Sure, Face.” And as quickly as that, his former lieutenant disappeared off towards his bedroom. Hannibal used the time to stick a frozen pizza in the oven to start cooking; he’d taken the opportunity to get some groceries in for his boy, worried about the lack of food in the apartment and the too-skinny look Face wore now. 

By the time Face came back ten minutes later, dressed in a loose pair of jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, damp hair curling about his head, Hannibal was just sliding the pizza out and onto a plate. Popping the lids on two fresh beers, he handed one to the younger man as they sat down, in silence, on opposite sides of the table. Taking a slice of pizza, trying to cut the tension that seemed to have sprung up between them, Hannibal started, “So how was your day?”

“Really, Hannibal?” Face sounded as exhausted as he looked, ignoring the food on offer but sipping from his beer. “That’s how we’re gonna do this? You’re back from the dead but you want to know how work went?” Judging by the fresh bruises and scrapes on Face’s knuckles, work hadn’t gone well at all, and Hannibal’s stomach lurched again. Swallowing hard to keep his first mouthfuls of dinner down, he decided to ignore it for now. Face had a right to be pissy with him, after all. “I’ve been thinking about it all day, and I just… I can’t get my head around this. You’re alive and now you’re back, just like that?”

“Just like that.” Leaning back on his stool, Hannibal tried to give Face some space. “I don’t expect anything from you, kid, I know I don’t have any rights. But I had to see you all, and maybe that’s selfish of me. I worried about you all so much, every day for the last few years.”

Nodding, Face finally reached for a slice, taking a few bites before he answered. “I hadn’t thought of it like that, that maybe you missed us as much as we missed you. We thought you were dead, but you knew we were alive even though you couldn’t see us. In a way, you lost us too.” 

Hannibal was stunned, that Face could be so perceptive and understanding straight away, but then reminded himself that this was a man whose skills included reading other people accurately in a heartbeat, the cleverest conman he’d ever known. He still wasn’t convinced Face was showing him his own true feelings about the whole ‘resurrection’ thing. “I grieved in my own way for all of you boys,” he admitted. “But especially for you, Face.”

Shaking his head and pursing those perfect lips, Face clearly wasn’t ready to go anywhere near that topic yet. “I’m gonna need something stronger than this.” For a moment Hannibal was confused, but then the other man levered himself up from the table, reaching into a cupboard before pulling out a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses. An excellent bottle of whiskey, Hannibal realised after knocking back a shot, feeling the burn down his throat, even as Face did the same, coughing a little.

* * * * *

God, this was so awkward. All he wanted to do was scream and rage at Hannibal for leaving him, for putting him through years of absolute hell. But at the same time he needed to hear the other man’s side of the story, to ask the questions he knew probably couldn’t be answered. The whiskey helped him keep a lid on his emotions, that comforting burn in his throat distracting him from the pounding headache he hadn’t managed to shake off all day. 

“So what can you tell me, Hannibal? About where you were, what you’ve done?” He was no fool; having spent most of his adult life on highly classified missions, he didn’t expect details.

“I can’t tell you much. I was deep undercover, a ‘perfect fit’ they told me.” Hannibal’s eyes took on a distant, slightly unfocussed look. “A number of different locations over the years, abroad as well as at home. The Underworld, I guess you could say.”

“Mafia?” Any icy shiver ran down Face’s spine.

“Something like that.”

“And it was dangerous?” Instantly he wished he could take the question back. Of course it had been dangerous.

But Hannibal didn’t mock him, instead considering the question seriously. “Very dangerous,” he eventually answered. “I couldn’t risk getting in contact with you. And it just got more dangerous as time went on…” The older man tailed off, getting lost in memories Face didn’t want to imagine.

Reaching across the table, Face wrapped one hand around Hannibal’s where it lay next to an abandoned slice of pizza, squeezing gently. “You had a shitty couple of years too, huh?”

“It’s been hell, kid. But it’s done now, it’s over, and I can try to get my life back together.” Hannibal turned his hand over, clasping Face’s firmly. It took Face a moment to realise the other man was staring at their entwined fingers, at the scrapes on his knuckles. Before he could pull away, Hannibal lifted their hands higher. “So, you want to tell me what happened here? And with all your bruises?”

Finding his hand held too tightly to just yank it away, Face felt his defences rising once again. “You said it yourself, boss, you don’t automatically get the right to question me. It’s none of your damn business.” 

“Bosco and James are worried about you – I phoned them, by the way, and told them I found you – and surely they have the right even if I don’t anymore.” With a final squeeze, Hannibal let go of his hand, reaching to pour them each another shot. “You haven’t been in contact much since you left the army?”

He certainly didn’t want to answer questions about the army any more than he did about his current line of work, knowing Hannibal would certainly not approve. Knowing Hannibal would be right. “They’re okay, right? BA’s on his new team, and Murdock’s still flying?” A sudden thought hit him. “How did they take you reappearing from beyond the dead?”

“Not great, at first.” Face could just imagine his friend’s reactions. “BA was angry and confused. Murdock was pleased, I think, but he’s still so stuck in his own head… We were doing better, before I left. Starting to feel a little more like old times, but it won’t happen overnight.” Hannibal knocked back another shot, the pizza apparently forgotten. “You did good with them, kid. Keeping them together, helping them keep going.”

“Couldn’t let everything just fall apart, even though it felt like our whole world ended when you…” Damn his traitorous eyes for tearing up. “It took every contact I had to keep Murdock flying; they wanted to send him back to a hospital. But he had to fly, he needed it, after…”

“And what did you need?” Hannibal’s voice was soft, so very soft now, those much-loved blue-grey eyes locked with his.

Time for honesty, he figured. “I needed you. But you were gone.”

¬¬¬¬* * * * *  
The tears in Face’s shining blue eyes and the hitch in his voice nearly broke Hannibal, and he started to reach across the table to his shattered boy, but the younger man seemed to shake himself, starting to peel the cheese from a slice of now-cold pizza, making a pile on the table beside the plate. “It wasn’t right without you, so I left. Got bored, you know, time to move on.”

Hannibal didn’t buy that for a second, but it was the opportunity he’d been waiting for to push for answers. “So what’ve you been up to since you left?”

A sudden, unexpected laugh from Face. “You followed me today, right? Putting all that undercover work to good use. So what did you figure out?” And all those tears were gone, a cold mask slamming down over that bruised face. 

Damn. He should’ve known Face would realise what he was doing. But the truth was, he hadn’t been able to figure out much. “You got coffee, ran some errands. A workshop of some sort.” Hannibal had glimpsed computers, papers, equipment he recognised from the times Face had forged documents for him in the past. “You met some guys. I didn’t like the look of them.”

“You lost me at the warehouse right?” Face shook his head as if disappointed, then gave into a huge yawn. Hannibal realised just how late it was getting, but was reluctant to stop talking now that the other man finally seemed to at least be a little more open. 

“Talk to me, Face,” he tried. “Whatever you’re mixed up in, I can see it isn’t good. I know I don’t have any right to expect you to still trust me – “

“I do, Hannibal.” Face heaved a huge sigh, letting his head drop forward. “God help me, I do trust you. But the shit I’m in… If I tell you, if they find out, I’m dead. For real. No miraculous resurrections.” Tired blue eyes peered up at Hannibal from underneath long lashes, and it hit the colonel again just how much he had missed this wonderful, beautiful man. Face seemed to come to a decision, nodding a little. “Fair’s fair, and I’ll tell you what I can. But I won’t put you in danger, and I can’t do this tonight, Hannibal. I really need to sleep, try and get my head around… everything.”

“Okay, kid.” Hannibal put his empty shot glass carefully on the table between them. “I’ll head off, then. I’m not far, a hotel – “

“Stay?” That bruised face snapped up then, and he could see the genuine need in his boy’s eyes. “Please, Hannibal… I lost you and now you’re back. I might be not able to get my head around that yet, but you’re here and I’d like you to stay.”

That was more honest than he though Face had been all evening, and Hannibal’s heart swelled at that simple, softly spoken request. His throat choked up and all he could do was nod as his beautiful boy climbed slowly to his feet and held out a hand in invitation.

They got ready for bed in silence, and Hannibal couldn’t believe how easy it all seemed, knowing it was some sort of a miracle that he was back with this man he had missed so very much. Knowing that Face still hadn’t told him everything, or anything at all really, knowing he was probably angry, confused, hurt, glad, all at the same time. When they finally climbed into bed, both in t-shirt and briefs, for a minute they lay on opposite sides, flat on their backs. 

“This is ridiculous,” Face huffed, grabbing Hannibal’s arm before rolling to his side and pulling the older man with him until they were spooned together, shuffling around until he got comfortable. “Mmm, better. Is this okay, John?”

“Oh Face, of course it is.” Hannibal cautiously tightened his arm around that thin chest, concerned about the bruises he had seen, worried that he could feel Face’s ribs through the flimsy t-shirt. “Go to sleep, kid. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

He heard Face’s breathing start to even out, though Hannibal knew he would probably not be able to sleep himself, so many mixed emotions spinning through his mind. Just as he thought his boy had fallen asleep, Face shifted in his arms, turning a little to look over his shoulder. “John? Was it worth it?” he whispered, blue eyes shining in the dark.

Hesitating only a moment as tears prickled behind his eyes, burying his nose in those soft curls, Hannibal breathed, “I think so, kid. I did good, and the job was worth doing. But if I could change it – “

“No, it’s done now, boss. At least it was all for a reason. That helps, I think…” Face turned away again, and then he really was asleep, soft little snores filling the dark room, as Hannibal gave into the tears and cried silently into the night.

* * * * *

“So,” Hannibal started, blowing gently on his steaming mug of coffee. Face had brought him to a nearby coffee shop, and they sat side by side on a battered old sofa. More neutral ground, Hannibal supposed, after the intimate conversation last night and sharing the same bed. It was still early, and the shop was practically empty, only a few businessmen in suits and a single mother with a pram. Face had already charmed the mother by fussing over her baby when they entered, and now she sat watching the two men with a smile on her face.

“’So’ indeed.” Face seemed a little more guarded this morning, shields back in place. He’d already sent and received several messages on his phone, and ignored two calls since they had sat down. “I guess you want to talk more, right?”

Hannibal couldn’t resist a chuckle at that. “You know, I don’t think we’ve ever talked this much. I’ve never had much of a way with words, whereas you could always talk for hours and hours but never reveal anything more than you wanted to.”

“True.” Face started poking gingerly at the fading bruise around his left eye. “But don’t sell yourself short, boss. You always knew how to say the right thing when it counted.” The younger man’s use of the past tense didn’t pass Hannibal by, and he felt the stab. Face was still not quite okay with his return.

Gently, he swatted Face’s hand away from his eye. “Stop poking at it, kid, it won’t heal otherwise.” He peered closer at the swelling still visible. “What the hell did you get hit with, anyway? A baseball bat?”

“Cricket bat, actually.” Completely deadpan, classic Face. But then, “No, seriously. It’s this guy’s trademark. He thinks it makes him stand out from the crowd.” He took a deep breath before continuing, as Hannibal sat back in shock. “That’s why I don’t do deliveries; I’m usually ‘behind the scenes’ only. One contact picks stuff up, brings new orders. But things have gotten… complicated.”

Trying to keep an open mind, Hannibal asked, “Forgeries? I recognised some of the equipment in your workshop yesterday.”

“I should’ve known.” Face wrapped both hands around his own steaming mug, raising it to his lips but stopping and putting it down before he actually drank, running one hand through his hair instead. “It started really small, just passports, driver’s licenses…” Despite Hannibal’s attempts to keep the shock from his face, he knew some of it must have shown when Face suddenly exploded at him. “What the hell else was I supposed to do, Hannibal? I’m qualified for nothing! It was harmless shit, easy money, mindless work, when all I wanted to do was - ” Remembering he was in a public place, the younger man managed to lower his voice. “All I wanted to do was get drunk and forget about you, but it wasn’t as easy at that. You aren’t that easy to forget, boss.”

Carefully keeping his own voice neutral, Hannibal started to see where this story was going. “You got pulled in deeper, I take it? Local gang?”

“Yeah, part of a bigger group. Word soon spread – I’m good at what I do.” No hint of pride there, and Hannibal knew it was simple truth. Face was a world-class conman, and a superbly skilled forger. A year or so of practice would have only seen him get better and better.

“Organised crime?” He remembered how stunned Face had looked when he had mentioned the Mafia last night, and wondered just how close their paths had been these last few years. 

“Something like that.” The wry smile on the kid’s face told Hannibal the irony wasn’t lost on him either. “Now it’s business documents, some historical artefacts, whole new personal histories when people need to vanish… I’ve been doing some jobs for out of town groups too. I’ve become ‘known’.”

“And that brings even more risks, right?” Aside from the obvious risks of heavily-armed mob bosses, and the less painful but still very real risk of arrest followed by prison. Hannibal felt his anger rising, mixed with disappointment. “Face, I can’t believe this!”

* * * * *

He could feel the anger rolling off the other man in waves. This was one of the reasons he’d chosen to bring Hannibal to a more public place before confiding in him: in theory, the older man couldn’t beat him to a pulp here. Sat side by side as they were, feeling the heat of Hannibal’s body close against him, they didn’t even have to make eye contact. He didn’t have to see how much he had failed his colonel.

“I’ve tried to back away,” he whispered. “But you probably know better than me how hard it is. Once you’re in… I’m too deep to walk away now, I know too much. I finally felt I was starting to get my head straight again - ” Until you showed up, he added mentally, still unable to fully believe the second chance they’d been given. “Right now, I can’t see a way out.”

Hannibal still hadn’t said a word. The silence was starting to become uncomfortable for the first time since he had returned, and Face felt his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He knew he’d let Hannibal down so badly, thrown away everything he’d ever worked for in the Rangers. 

“You’re still Army, right? You shouldn’t be here, with me, you can’t know this stuff. You have a duty to turn me in.” Still silence from the man next to him. “You should really leave. You would’ve been better off not coming to find me.”

At least he’d got to spend one last night with Hannibal’s arms around him, even if things had never gone as far as he had dreamed. If they’d finally given in and said how they really felt about each other – or, how Face hoped the older man felt about him – then this would be impossible. He’d known since the moment he’d seen Hannibal standing in his crappy little kitchen that the older man would run from him as soon as he knew the truth. And he completely understood why, disgusted with himself. He was nothing but a petty criminal now. Why should Hannibal want anything to do with him?

Carefully placing his still-full mug on the low table before them, he stood to leave, forcing a cheery tone. “I’ve got some stuff I need to finish, boss. I managed to buy myself an extra day” - and he had the bruised knuckles to show for it – “But I’ll be in deep trouble if I don’t get it done today. There are some important people in town.”

Still nothing from Hannibal. Face looked down at the older man’s stony expression, memorising those magnificent features all over again. Hannibal’s resurrection was a miracle, and he still didn’t quite know what he felt apart from relief, but this might really be the last time he ever saw the man. With a soft sigh, he turned and started to leave, stunned when a strong hand snapped out and locked around his wrist, pulling him to a stop.

“I hate what you’re into, kid.” Hannibal’s voice was low, dangerous. “I won’t lie to you, I hate it. I can’t believe you would ever choose something like that – “

“I didn’t exactly ‘choose’ it,” Face hissed, yanking his hand away quickly, carrying on when Hannibal tried to interrupt him. “A favour here, a ‘special request’ there… You blink and suddenly you’re in it up to your neck.” He started to walk away, ignoring the way the older man was calling his name. “I’ll understand if you’re gone tonight. I’ll expect it.” 

“Face, wait – “

“At least I get to say goodbye this time, Hannibal.” And he was out the door and away, tears blurring the city streets before him.

* * * * *

Late evening, a dark, deserted warehouse with swinging spotlights, in an abandoned lot in downtown LA. Thinking over all the clichés of the world he moved in now, Face mused that they couldn’t really have picked a more stereotypical place to meet, for all their attempts at subtlety. If, heaven forbid, any police or FBI were tracking Marcello and his crew, this would seem to be an obvious place to observe, not to mention that the huge empty space left plenty of room for observation, his old sniper-brain kicking in and working out where the best positions would be.

Shaking himself, he tried to get his head back into the game. He needed to be on the ball tonight, meeting Marcello for the first time in a few months. The documents he’d worked so hard on were secure in the folder he held in his hands, and he was right on time for the meeting, though he knew from experience the other men would be a few minutes late. It was all about getting and keeping the upper hand, making a show of strength.

He’d kept his head down all day, concentrating on his work and trying not to think about Hannibal, which was proving impossible. Finding out his colonel was really alive, knowing he had probably lost him again already because of his stupid decisions… No, he’d had to focus on his work, one day behind schedule and with threats hanging over his head. This particular company used very specific paper with special watermarks, not to mention a particular ink and a certain type of laminating. By the time you factored in unusual handwriting and signatures, all of which had to be exact, not to mention the sheer quantity of documents he’d been ordered to fake, Face had struggled to sort everything in the time he’d been given. Now, finally, it was all done, and he was looking forward to dropping it all off before hitting the nearest bar and getting completely hammered. 

The sound of doors opening and slamming shut in the distance alerted him to the presence of other men in the building, and he made sure his stance was unthreatening, purposefully keeping his body relaxed. As he’d expected, two suited men approached first, searching him thoroughly for weapons, and he put up no resistance. He’d learned long ago not to come armed to any meetings.

And then Marcello arrived, surrounded by several more men in dark suits, some of who actually wore dark glasses as well, despite the darkness of the evening. Again, Face chuckled mentally at the stereotypes the gang displayed, but carefully kept his face neutral, nodding a greeting though not speaking first.

“Mr Peck, it’s good to see you again,” Marcello began without smiling, reaching out to shake Face’s hand. The leader was a short man, perhaps no more than five foot four, but had that same aura of power Face always associated with Hannibal. He never surrounded himself with giant bodyguards either, seeming to assume he was known and feared, therefore safe enough. “You’ve been well, I hope? Apart from that nasty black eye there – you really shouldn’t walk into doors, they do tend to fight back.” The men in suits all laughed obediently, and Face managed to smile, nodding a little. “We’ll keep this short and sweet; I have other people to meet with, other places to be tonight. You have the documents we requested?”

“Yes, sir, right here.” Face held out the folder, waiting while Marcello tugged on a pair of soft cotton gloves before taking it. “My apologies again for the slight delay; I had some difficulty sourcing the right ink.”

No one spoke while Marcello flicked through the folder, pausing once or twice to peer closer at a page, angling it into the light. Face felt his heart pounding in his ears, counting down the seconds until at last, the other man nodded, smiling. “Looks good, looks good.” He handed the folder back to one of the suits, taking another similar folder in exchange. “Of course, you know we’ll be in contact if they fail under closer scrutiny. Ordinarily I’d offer compensation for the difficult supply issues, but since you are a day late, we’ll call it even.” He held out that new folder towards Face. “Your next job, Mr Peck. No rush, two weeks for this one. For your usual fee.”

Hesitating before accepting the folder, Hannibal’s anger still fresh in his mind from that morning, Face wondered again if there was any way out. “Actually, Mr Marcello, I was thinking maybe I’d take a break, you know. A holiday of sorts. You must have other sources you could use…”

Marcello cocked one eyebrow in surprise, pulling the folder back to his chest. “Other sources… Well of course, Mr Peck. You are by far the best I have at what you do, but you are far from irreplaceable.” With a jerk of his chin, two of the larger suits moved to flank Face, close but not quite touching, and the former ranger tensed automatically. “Perhaps you are thinking of spending some more time with your ‘old friend’? The one you had coffee with this morning?”

Shit. They’d been seen, he should’ve known Hannibal wasn’t the only one following him. Had it been one of the businessmen in the coffee shop? Or that single mother, maybe? Treading carefully, thinking fast, Face knew he had to protect Hannibal at all costs. He couldn’t let him get dragged into this any more than he already was. “No, that was an old army buddy, just passing through. He’s already headed back out - “

“And of course, I know you wouldn’t have told him anything about our little… enterprises.” Marcello’s voice grew dangerously quiet. “I know you aren’t a stupid man, Mr Peck, but I must confess I’m a little disappointed. I don’t feel your heart is really in this anymore.” His eyes narrowed ominously, and before Face could speak again he found his arms seized and pulled tight behind his back. He knew better than to struggle, breathing speeding up as he wondered if this was the end, after everything he’d been through.

“Mr Marcello, sir, please – “

“Consider this a warning.” The tall Suit next to Marcello slowly pulled a long knife from a leather sheath, turning it to catch the last of the light. “Just to keep you focussed, Mr Peck.”

Now Face began to struggle, trying to not beg. “Hey, come on, there’s really no need for this. I’m focussed, I promise, it’s all good. I don’t need a break; who needs a holiday really, come on man…”

The tall Suit, one of the few wearing those stupid dark glasses, stepped closer until he stood directly in front of him, bringing the knife up into Face’s eye line. Absurdly, he thought, ‘not the face, please, anything but the face’, and was almost relieved when the other man reached down to rip Face’s suit jacket open, buttons skittering across the concrete floor, before yanking his shirt out of his pants, exposing his stomach to the cool air of the warehouse. And then the man began to lower the knife, grinning madly, and all Face could do was tense in anticipation of the pain. 

* * * * *

Sitting once again at Face’s dining table in that pitiful little apartment, all Hannibal could think about was the overwhelming sense of déjà vu. There was no pizza this time, no beer, but he had the whiskey and shot glasses out just in case, though so far he had resisted the temptation. He had fired up a cigar, after finding an ashtray in a cupboard, and now he just sat. Waiting.

It was getting very late now, and Hannibal had barely moved since the middle of the afternoon, lost in his thoughts. It was worse waiting tonight than it had been previously, knowing now what Face was involved with. Hannibal could imagine all too easily the kind of people he was mixing with, and knew the danger he was tempting every day.

Finally, as the clock ticked past midnight, a key turned in the lock and Hannibal gave in to the urge to get to his feet, stubbing his cigar out. He didn’t know if Face would run when he saw him, but he knew what he had to do, what he had to tell him. What he should have told him the first day he met the kid.

Face appeared in the doorway, a beige cardboard folder tucked under one arm, and his suit jacket pulled tightly together with one hand. When he saw Hannibal, he immediately started shaking his head, backing up a step, and the colonel tensed, ready this time to pursue the kid if he did run. “No, Hannibal, no. I told you, you can’t be here, you shouldn’t be here…”

“I told you, kid, I’m not gonna leave you.” Hannibal tried to pour everything he felt for this infuriating man into his words. “And I meant it; I won’t leave you again. I want to help, if you’ll let me. You just ran out so fast this morning, and I was so surprised. By the time I followed you, you were long gone.” He gave a short, dry laugh. “You always were quick on your feet.”

“And I meant what I said; I won’t put you at risk, Hannibal, I can’t.” Face sagged wearily, stepping into the room properly at last and placing the folder down carefully, as if it might explode if he dropped it suddenly, still carefully keeping his jacket closed. “You have to go. Go back to the army, forget about all of this.” He waved his free hand randomly, and Hannibal wasn’t sure if he meant the apartment, the situation, or even Face himself. “You stay around me and you’re in danger too.”

“Face – “

“You left, Hannibal!” Face suddenly seemed to explode, slamming one hand down onto the table, venting some of that anger Hannibal knew he was carrying. “You died and you left me! And I know I fucked my life up, but you weren’t here and I couldn’t do it all without you. You went and DIED for fuck’s sake, and I couldn’t – “

Raising his voice, Hannibal barked, “Stop, kid. Just stop.” Amazingly, Face did just that, chest heaving and cheeks flushed. The tension in the room kept growing though, as did the heat between them. “Damnit all to hell, Face. Don’t you know?”

Stunned into silence for a moment, the younger man swallowed hard, shaking his head. When he continued, his voice was rough with emotion. “I don’t know anything anymore, boss. You were dead and now you aren’t. I told you to go but you stayed. I just don’t know anything…”

Into the silence that followed, Hannibal finally said the only thing he could say. “I love you, Face.” A sharp intake of air was the only response, so, steeling himself, Hannibal pressed on. “I love you, kid, you have to know that. I’ve loved you for years. It nearly killed me for real, knowing I never told you that before this all happened.” He risked taking a step closer, then another, moving slowly around the table towards his boy until they stood side by side. Face was frozen, one hand still on the table, one still holding his jacket, and Hannibal carefully slipped a finger under his chin, turning his head until shining blue eyes met his. “I should’ve told you every day since the day I met you, but we just kept dancing around the subject… I love you.”

For what felt like hours but was probably no more than a minute, Face just stared into his eyes, breathing fast, body tense, and Hannibal worried he had made a terrible mistake. Had it really all been in his imagination for all those years? 

Just as he was about to pull back, Face finally smiled weakly, blinking. His beautiful boy breathed, “Hannibal…” He didn’t know which of them moved first, but suddenly they were kissing, soft and gentle, hesitant at first but growing in intensity, the culmination of years of longing. Face’s lips were as soft as Hannibal had always imagined, and he slipped his hand around from the younger man’s chin to cup the back of his head, pulling him closer, even as his other hand moved to the small of Face’s back, bringing their bodies flush together.

And suddenly Face broke the kiss, dropping his head and hissing in obvious pain as Hannibal jerked his hands away. “Face? What’s wrong?” Stepping back, eyes running quickly over the younger man’s slender body, it didn’t take him long to spot that Face was still holding his jacket closed, his hand white-knuckled as the fabric strained in his grasp. “Let me see, baby,” Hannibal murmured, gently tugging away that hand. The jacket fell open, and Hannibal gasped to see the blood-stained white shirt beneath. “Shit, kid. You still not learned to speak up when you’re injured?”

“You distracted me,” Face whispered with a smile, letting an edge of pain show in his voice as Hannibal took his hand, tugging him through to the bedroom and gently pushing him down flat onto his back on the bed. “I can see you are going to be very distracting – ow, careful!” 

“Lie still, kid.” Carefully undoing the buttons on the shirt, Hannibal peeled it open, wincing in sympathy when some of the dried blood caught on the skin beneath. There were three long parallel cuts on Face’s stomach, neat and clearly deliberate, and Hannibal felt his blood start to boil. Mercifully they weren’t bleeding badly, but he still virtually ran into the tiny bathroom to retrieve the first aid kit he’d spotted there. Laying it open on the bed next to his boy, he was relieved to find it well stocked, although he didn’t want to think about the reasons why. “Do I need to ask what happened?”

“It was just a warning,” Face stated softly, lying perfectly still as Hannibal began to gently clean the cuts with antiseptic. “They saw me with you, and they know I want out.” He tensed up beneath the colonel’s gentle hands, eyes slamming shut. “That stings so bad…”

Pausing for a moment, Hannibal reached out to squeeze Face’s hand, feeling him hold on tightly. “You want something for the pain?”

“No.” Eyes still tightly shut, Face shook his head where it was pressed into the pillow. “No, I’ve got you here, and that makes everything better, as cheesy as that sounds.” When that grasping hand relaxed a little, Hannibal continued his cleaning, swiping gently across that flat, hard stomach with smooth strokes, leaning a little closer to inspect the wounds more thoroughly. The touch of a hand on his head made him lift his gaze to meet his boy’s blue gaze. “I love you, too, Hannibal, so much. I can’t believe that you…”

Kneeling up on the bed, Hannibal leaned forwards until he could capture those perfect lips again, already knowing he would never grow tired of kissing this man. They kissed and kissed until oxygen became an issue, and Hannibal pulled back panting, grinning. “Let’s get you patched up, sweetheart.” Shifting back down to Face’s side, he continued, “I don’t think these need stiches, thankfully.”

“They’re only shallow. I’ve had worse.” Hannibal wasn’t at all convinced Face was just talking about his time in the military, noticing new scars shining on Face’s exposed chest and stomach, refusing to let his mind wander further. A comfortable silence grew between them as he concentrated on getting the cuts clean, gently smothering them in antiseptic cream before taping a protective layer of gauze over Face’s entire stomach. The whole time he was feeling terrible for being so happy – finally he had said what he really felt for this wonderful man in front of him, finally he had heard the words back, but Face had been hurt and was stuck in a terrible position. 

Finally satisfied with his handiwork, he settled back on his heels on the bed, leaving one hand resting protectively on his boy’s bruised chest. Face brought his own hand up and wrapped it around Hannibal’s wrist to keep him there, their eyes locked together, both smiling quietly. Just taking in everything that had happened. A wince suddenly creased Face’s forehead, and Hannibal leaned down to kiss it away, feeling strong arms come around his shoulders before firm hands stroked gently down his back. But he could also feel those hands shaking.

“Time for bed, I think,” Hannibal whispered, lips still resting on Face’s forehead, and he felt his boy nod, those arms falling away. Practical concerns took over, and Hannibal busied himself tidying away the first aid kit before carefully helping Face undress. With Face wincing every time the skin on his stomach pulled, there was nothing at all sexual in the situation, and, after stripping himself quickly and efficiently, Hannibal lay down on his side next to his boy and carefully pulled the blankets over them both.

Face still lay on his back, but he turned his head towards Hannibal, a request in his eyes. “Hannibal… John…”

“Right here, baby.” He brought their lips together again, marvelling at how well they fit, at how easy this was after so long a wait, and knew he wanted more, knew Face wanted more. Knew it even stronger when his boy started stroking gently up his arm, down his side, moving lower, and he reached to catch that roving hand before it could reach its destination. “Not like this, Face. Not when you’re hurt, exhausted.” He swallowed Face’s protests in another kiss. “Soon.”

“’Kay,” Face breathed drowsily, and Hannibal knew he’d made the right choice when those blue eyes drifted shut. “Hold me?”

“Always.” Careful not to disturb the dressings, Hannibal wrapped himself around his boy’s long body, slipping one arm under his head and wrapping the other around his chest, tucking one leg between those firm thighs. Face’s soft moan told him again what they both really wanted, but Hannibal wanted their first time together to be perfect, and he could feel the younger man trembling a little in his arms. “I love you so much, Face,” he told him again, not able to say the words enough. “Go to sleep now, I’ve got you. Everything’s going to be ok, I promise.”

“You can’t promise that.” Those eyes snapped open again. “I love you too, but this doesn’t change anything. You still have to… I’m putting you in danger, the longer you stay…”

“Sssh,” he soothed, worried Face was working himself up again. “Now I’ve got you I won’t ever be able to let go.” He pressed a gentle kiss to his boy’s temple, feeling that slender body relax again, moving ever so slightly into his embrace. “Besides, I’ve got a plan.” 

* * * * *

“You sure this is the place, kid?” Hannibal leaned forward in the passenger seat, looking uncertainly around the area. They were in one of the really bad parts of LA, shabby apartment blocks and abandoned, boarded up shops, surrounded by unsavoury characters. 

In the driver’s seat, Face unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned over to the back seat for his jacket. A light rain had started up on the drive over, adding an even more depressing note to the whole scene. “Yeah, we’ve met here a couple of times. The alley just over there,” he gestured out the window, before turning to face Hannibal, leaning forward until their foreheads were touching, a soft smile on his lips despite the situation. “It won’t take long, I promise. Just need to pick this thing up, and then – “

“Then we’ll see if my plan works.”

With a tilt of his head, Face brought their lips together in a gentle kiss, reassuring Hannibal. “Your plans always work out, boss. I have full confidence in you.” Another peck on the lips, and then his beautiful boy was pulling back, shrugging his beige jacket on as best he could in the small space.

“The whole ‘two weeks undercover’ plan didn’t really work out,” Hannibal felt compelled to mention, watching as Face winced when his sore stomach pulled awkwardly. 

“Not your plan, remember?”

“Kid – “

“Stop it, Hannibal.” A strong hand reached out and touched his cheek tenderly. “We can’t change it, it’s over now.” Gazing into those stunning blue eyes, Hannibal could almost forget the reason they were here in this terrible part of town. “Everything worked out and you’re all mine now.”

That got a laugh out of him. “Does that mean you’re all mine?”

“One hundred percent, baby. Body and soul.” And this time it was Hannibal who closed the gap between them, capturing Face’s lips in a far more passionate kiss, twining one hand up into those soft curls and holding the other man as close as he could.

All too soon Face tried to pull back, and Hannibal let him, knowing the time for Face’s meeting had come. “Be careful,” he whispered.

“Gonna be fine, John.” A cocky smile, a flash of those bright white teeth. “See you in five.” And Face was gone, out of the car and striding away into the rain. Hannibal felt all his senses on edge as he watched his man cross the street. As three tall figures emerged from the shadows in the alley, clearly waiting for him. He hated this whole situation but hopefully, if things went according to plan, it would be over soon enough and the rest of their lives could begin. His life with Face, and warmth spread through his whole body at that thought.

Face touched one hand to his stomach as he walked and Hannibal frowned, reminding himself again to check those cuts when they had time that night, knowing they were still bothering the kid. He found himself wishing again that Face had agreed to wear a wire as well, so he could hear what was going on, but understood all the reasons he had refused; Hannibal was being too protective, and Gray and his men were already suspicious of him. 

He cast his eyes around the neighbourhood one more time. There was a group of teenagers on one corner, involved in what looked like a drug deal. Several women who were most likely hookers. One drunk who seemed to have passed out in the gutter. The really glamorous part of LA, Hannibal mused. One man did stand out, a big man in a dark sweatshirt, the hood pulled down low over his face, hands buried deep in his pockets as he leant against a lamppost, facing the alley. The feeling of unease in Hannibal’s gut started to build.

Face had reached the alley and was talking to the three men, careful to keep his back to the street. “Good boy,” Hannibal murmured, knowing Face wouldn’t let himself get boxed in. One of the men handed Face a small package, and the colonel figured that must be Gray, Face’s usual contact. Marcello wouldn’t risk a meeting in the street, apparently.

From the corner of his eye, Hannibal suddenly registered movement as the big man in the hoody started moving, pulling a gun from his pocket, aiming towards the alley. Two shots rang out before Hannibal could even move, and Face stumbled before going down hard, red blooming across his back even as he fell. 

The shooter was already running as Hannibal practically fell out of the car before sprinting as fast as he could towards where his boy lay. “Face!” Dimly, he registered screams and shouts from the people in the street, though not one person moved to help or went for their phones. Even Gray and his two men had stepped back rather than forwards, hands reaching inside their jackets for guns but not drawing them, sensing the danger had passed.

The alley seemed too far away. Face wasn’t moving, lying so very still, and all Hannibal could see was red. “Face!” he called again as he finally reached his fallen boy, crashing to his knees beside that limp body. “Face, I’m here, I’ve got you – call an ambulance!” The last was snapped at the three observers, as he flipped his love over, out of the puddle he lay in, cradling him half on his lap in the filthy alleyway.

“He’s done for, man.” Gray shook his head, face completely expressionless. “Shot in the back like that? He’s gone.”

“No,” Hannibal breathed. Face was so still and so cold in his lap, and, when the colonel reached beneath his shoulders carefully, his hand was covered in red when he pulled it back. “Face, open your eyes, baby.” But those eyes only flickered, staying closed, no glimpse of blue. He pressed his shaking fingers to Face’s neck, searching for a pulse, calling back to Gray, “Please, an ambulance. His pulse is so weak…”

“It’s a shame, man.” The gang member still made no move to help, burying his hands in his pockets instead. “He was real talented at what he did.”

“Not now, kid, please, not now…” Dimly, Hannibal was aware the street had emptied around them, but focused on stroking his fingers through Face’s hair, trying to comfort him. Further down the street, he registered a police officer running towards them, wild hair sticking out from under his hat. “Please, Face. Hold on for me? You’ll be okay, you have to be okay…”

Face started to cough in his arms, body spasming a little, and Hannibal tightened his grip, leaning forward to shield him from the rain. One last rattling breath and his boy fell completely still. “No, baby, no! I love you, Face, hold on… No…” Tears finally broke their banks and ran down his cheeks, mingling with the rain.

Behind him, he heard Gray and his men moving back down the alley. “Cops. We’re gone.” Hannibal didn’t even look up, though he couldn’t help but hear as the other man called back, a hint of sympathy in his rough voice, “He wanted out, man. He’s out now.”

Hannibal was left holding Face’s still body as the cop finally reached them, shouting into his radio for backup, for an ambulance, but he couldn’t focus on that, couldn’t take his eyes off his boy, rocking him gently in his lap. Around them, the only sound was the rain pattering on the filthy pavements, the whole area used to death. What was one more body in this part of town?

There was a terrible pain in Hannibal’s own chest, a buzzing in his ears as the cop shook his arm, calling to him now. They had wasted so many years together dancing around their feelings, never saying what they truly felt for each other, and then those last two and a half years spent mourning each other for different reasons, lives spent apart when they should have been together.

Then, just as he was convinced his own soul would split in two right there in that filthy alley, Face cracked open one eye, the corners of his mouth quirking up in a little smile, and Hannibal felt his heart start beating once more.

* * * * *

He sits at his little work desk, pen in hand, looking out of the panoramic window at the fields which lay beyond their little garden, as the sun made its way slowly higher into the clear morning. It promised to be a beautiful day. The papers he had been working on were spread across the desk, his current piece of work half-finished and he frowns at a little at it, not entirely happy with how it was going. Still, he had all the time in the world now, unable to yet believe that nearly six weeks had passed since that awful meeting in the rainy alley.

Warm hands suddenly land on his shoulders, and he smiles into the room, letting his pen drop to the desk, not startled despite not having heard the approach. He finds himself pulled gently backwards until his back comes to rest on a firm chest, and his smile grows even wider as those strong hands move to wrap around his collar, a soft kiss pressed to his ear.

“What are you thinking about, sweetheart?”

“That I still can’t believe it.” Face twists a little, and those warm lips brush against his temple. “How lucky I’ve been, that I’m here with you. That we’re both here, now.”

Hannibal leans down to rest his chin on Face’s shoulder, arms tightening in response to that honest answer. Face knows his man feels the same; he’s said it often enough. But right now, his lover is looking down at the desk, studying his work. “That looks absolutely amazing, Temp,” Hannibal whispers.

“You think?” Lifting the drawing up, he holds it out at arm’s length, alongside the window, letting Hannibal compare the view with his attempt at putting it onto paper. “It’s not quite right, the horizon isn’t… I thought maybe I’d try something other than copying. Or, at least, copy something really in front of me rather than another picture.” He’s been trying to use his forging and copying skills to draw and paint, not something he’d ever considered before but Hannibal had bought him a set of artist’s pens and a sketchbook. He’s found himself strangely addicted, the practise filling his spare time and his pictures starting to fill their new house.

“An original Peck? It’ll be worth a fortune one day, baby.” Face lets the picture fall back to the desk as together they just watch the sun rising steadily higher above the fields, wrapped together as they are. Eventually, Hannibal murmurs, “It’s still early, Face. I missed you…”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he admits. “Thought I might as well get up.” He’s still been having the occasional nightmare where Marcello tracks him down, finds he is still alive. Face knows he owes the gang boss nothing, all his jobs finished except that last one, for which he hadn’t received any money yet. But still, he knows things that could bring the other man down. They’ve talked about it, he and Hannibal, and maybe in a couple of months the FBI might get an anonymous call, once he really feels safe and everything sinks in. For starters, the nightmares are growing less frequent every morning he wakes up in Hannibal’s arms.

Hannibal just kisses his cheek, letting his lips linger. Face closes his eyes, dropping his head back until it rests on the older man’s strength. “You’re safe, Temp, completely safe. I won’t let anyone hurt you again, I promise.”

Face knows they think he died in that alley, just as Hannibal had planned, with a little help from his friends, of course. BA had fired the blanks, letting Face trigger the bags of fake-blood tucked inside his jacket while Murdock had played the cop who ran to help, scattering Gray and his men once they had seen Face ‘die’.

As soon as he’d cracked one eye open, lying in Hannibal’s lap in that cold, wet alley, Face had wanted nothing more than to comfort his lover, seeing the tears in his eyes mixing with the rain. He knew it had all been a little too real for the older man, that acting the part had maybe felt too close to reality, but he had to stay ‘dead’ in case Gray was still watching. He let Hannibal and Murdock carry his ‘body’ to the car and waited until they had driven far, far away, picking up BA along the way, before finally he had been able to climb into Hannibal’s arms and kiss away the tears he could still see in those blue-grey eyes.

Neither Murdock nor BA had seemed at all surprised by the kiss, both actually cheering them on for a time before the big guy, who had reclaimed his traditional driving seat, started to lecture Face about how stupid he was, getting mixed up in the mob, getting himself all cut up… But beneath the gruff tone, Face picked up genuine concern and care from his old friend, and just sat still, wrapped in Hannibal’s arms and finally drying off from the rain, taking the lecture he knew he deserved. Eventually Murdock had started to whimper a little at the shouting, and Hannibal had calmed things right down. It was all over, he had said, they were all safe and alive and well, and things would be better from then on.

Even thinking about it all makes Face shudder a little, and he brings his hands up to clasp Hannibal’s, where they are still locked around his chest. “I love you so much, John. You know that, right?”

“Right. And I love you too.” Hannibal rocks them slowly from side to side for a few minutes, as they watch the morning pass by. “You know, I don’t have to go in for another couple of hours…”

The colonel had finally started on his three month ‘welcome back’ training, slightly modified now so that he can stay closer to his home base and closer to Face, with the ultimate goal of maybe taking a desk job – though the younger man isn’t convinced that will suit his action-loving partner, knowing how much Hannibal loves the adrenaline. Face, on the other hand, isn’t going back. They talked honestly about it for a long time, Hannibal convinced he still had enough sway to get the team back together if they wanted it, but Face feels he’s burned too many bridges. Life has taken him quite far from the Ranger he used to be, though it’ll always be in his blood. For now, he isn’t quite sure what he wants to do, thinking maybe he’ll go back to college, or get into some sort of training, but for now he’s just playing housewife and, to his surprise, absolutely loving it.

“Mmm,” he breathes, reluctant to move just yet although he knows what his lover is hinting at, and hell yes, he wants the same. “Are the guys still coming over tonight?”

“Yeah. Murdock’s gonna do BBQ, I think.” BA and Murdock are over at their house at least twice a week, sometimes even more. Their old friendships have been renewed but changed ever so slightly, and Face still feels a little sad that they aren’t all as close as they once were. BA is still thriving on his new team - they head out to Afghanistan in a few weeks’ time – while Murdock is even more himself now Face is around all the time, more stable than he’s been since Hannibal ‘died’. The four of them have all talked and talked and talked some more, and finally they have decided there should be no guilt and no blame between them. Things have happened, they all reacted the way they did, but what’s done is done. Forward is the only way now, and they will always be family to each other. “It’s early, baby. Come back to bed…”

He lets Hannibal tug him up and away from the desk, following as they walk quietly together back through their house. It’s still not quite home, still a little bare – neither of them had much in the way of possessions even before their faked deaths, but they are working on filling the space now. Hannibal’s books are all unpacked and fill practically one entire wall of bookcases, while Face’s treasured picture of the team was rescued from his shabby little LA apartment and now sits in its shining new frame, pride of place above the fireplace in the living room.

Face reaches out to touch the picture as they pass and Hannibal, of course, notices the action, stopping to draw him into a deep kiss, big hands stretching down to cup his ass tenderly. “No regrets, Face?”

“Only that we didn’t do this years ago.” Face slides his hands up under Hannibal’s shirt as the taller man pulls him into a tight hug. They stand locked together for a long moment, Hannibal resting his chin on his lovers’ head, until Face grows impatient for more, biting ever-so-gently at Hannibal’s neck, dragging his fingernails slowly down that long expanse of back. He feels the other man shudder against him.

“You after something, brat?” Hannibal’s voice has dropped several octaves, it seems, and the teasing tone almost sends Face straight over the edge.

“Just you, old man.” In one swift motion he lifts that t-shirt up and away, tugging it over Hannibal’s head and throwing it behind them, before immediately going back to suckling at that same spot on his lover’s neck, increasing the pressure though careful not to mark him – although he’d love to see how the Colonel explained that to the rest of the boys! 

Hannibal gasps, his hands braced to Face’s hips as he tries to pull back, eventually managing to create an inch of space between them. Face whimpers at the sudden loss of contact, but Hannibal takes his head in both those wonderful, large hands and kisses him firmly. “Bedroom, baby. Now.” And he uses his height to turn Face and practically march him through into their bedroom, the one room that really does feel like home to them both.

There, they kiss again, more heatedly than before, Hannibal sucking at Face’s lower lip, his big hands wandering up to tweak at suddenly taut nipples, and it is Face’s turn to gasp. These last few weeks have been a rollercoaster of discovery for them both, learning each other’s weaknesses and preferences, and this morning it seems like Hannibal is going for all of his at once. Skilful fingers skim away down his stomach, brushing tenderly over those nearly-healed cuts, before returning to those delicate nubs and proceeding to reduce him to a whimpering, quivering wreck.

When his knees finally give out, Hannibal swallowing all his air and still sucking on his lip, Face finds himself lifted in strong arms and carried bodily backwards until he is laid out on clean, crisp white sheets, and those big hands he cherishes so much proceed to strip him of his loose t-shirt and sweatpants. Catching his breath, he watches as his powerful lover stands, stripping his own pants quickly and efficiently, before stretching himself out full length on top of Face. 

More kissing, and he knows he’ll never, ever grow tired of this, tongues entwining and growls shared. Hannibal braces his hands either side of Face’s head, as the younger man reaches up to wrap his arms tight around that strong back, and a slow slide of firm bodies has him moaning into his lover’s mouth as their hard cocks finally rub against each other. It’s both a wonderful feeling and nowhere near enough at the same time, but he suspects Hannibal won’t let him rush this morning, and contents himself with arching upwards, seeking closer contact with that incredible body.

Breaking the kiss for a moment, Hannibal comes to rest on one elbow, stroking Face’s hair gently with his free hand. His cheeks are flushed pink and his pupils so dark Face feels he could see right into his lover’s soul. It’s a great look on the older man. “I love you so, kid.”

“Love you too,” he pants. “Now, please, John?”

That gets him a deep chuckle, and Hannibal rolls off him and away to the side, back in a fraction of a second and leaning over him again, as Face snaps his legs up and around his lover’s hips. A quick kiss is pressed to his nose before he feels two warm, slick fingers trace his cleft, and he arches a little higher into Hannibal, using one hand to trace circles on the older man’s pecs, crying out as the tip of one wonderful digit breaches him suddenly.

As he suspected, Hannibal isn’t in a hurry today, and Face revels in the feeling as his lover sets to work opening him up, each tender stroke of his fingers stoking his passion higher and higher as Hannibal graduates to two, then three digits, pressing deeper and further into his body. He wants to sob when he realises Hannibal is deliberately avoiding hitting his prostate, and tilts his hips a little, earning himself a warning nip on the collarbone as his lover hovers close.

“Lie still, baby.” Little more than a hiss of air against his sweaty skin, as Hannibal brings his other hand down from where it was still braced near Face’s head, slipping it under his lower back to offer some support as his fingers never stop moving. 

Then suddenly, finally, Face sees stars as Hannibal deliberately hits his little pleasure button. “Oh god, John…”

“Easy,” Hannibal breathes, before rubbing at it again, setting up a rhythmic stimulation that soon whites out Face’s vision completely, and all he can do is feel as his incredible lover opens him up further, spreading him perfectly until he is right on the edge, cock straining up hard against his stomach where it lies caught between their two bodies.

And only then does Hannibal withdraw his hand, and Face hates himself a little for sobbing out at the loss, but then something much better is pressing in and his sob changes to a shout of joy as Hannibal drives home in one achingly long thrust.

His lover lies still on top of him for a moment, and Face can feel the other man breathing hard, clearly close to the edge himself. He can feel every inch of Hannibal’s magnificent length throbbing, buried deep inside himself, and throws his arms up to lock them around Hannibal’s shoulders, keeping them pressed as close as they can be. They fit so well together, as if they were built for each other, and Face still can’t believe they haven’t been doing this for years. If Hannibal had never left him – had never died – would they have ever reached this point, where there was nothing between them?

As if he could read Face’s mind, Hannibal lifts his head a little and presses a soft kiss to his boy’s lips. “I’m here now,” he murmurs, and Face can hear the restraint in his lover’s voice as he holds himself still. “You have me, Temp, all of me.”

Swallowing convulsively, he gasps, “Show me, boss.”

And that is all it takes to start Hannibal moving, long slow thrusts building in strength and power as Face basks in the love they share. A sudden shift and he cries out as his lover nails his prostate, those stars back in his eyes, the friction on his throbbing cock as it is caught between their moving bodies driving him closer and closer to heaven as Hannibal keeps that angle, hips snapping in and out faster now. 

This is how it works best between them, although that isn’t to say they haven’t tried things, experimented, and they have begun to open up to each other about their fantasies and even, Face blushes even as his orgasm stalks ever closer, their kinks. Sex with Hannibal will never be dull, he knows, but his partner’s magnificent length filling him like this… Well, he doesn’t quite know what he’s done to deserve this in his life, but he’s so very grateful that he feels the tears leaking down from his eyes as his whole body starts to tense up, stomach muscles crunching, as Hannibal leans over him, mouth to ear, and whispers, “Come for me, sweetheart.”

And the whole world explodes in a shower of white stars as he feels his cock erupt between their bodies, feels Hannibal slam into him once, twice more before stiffening himself, and the jet of hot semen pulsing against his prostate nudges him even higher than he thought he could ever fly. 

* * * * *

Putting on the uniform again after nearly three years without it still felt strange, but still felt right. As he snugs the last of the buttons into place, reaching to grab his beret from the bedside table where it lay, Hannibal turns to smile down at the man lying asleep in their bed.

“Face, baby,” he whispers, hating to wake his lover but not wanting to leave without saying farewell. Under the sheets, his boy shifts slightly, a sigh escaping those perfect lips as bright blue eyes blink open. Perching on the edge of the bed, Hannibal leans down to kiss him gently. “I’ve got to go to work now.”

“Hmm,” Face breathes, stretching leisurely on the bed, and Hannibal feels his spent cock twitch anew as the muscles on his boy’s chest and shoulders flex. Six weeks of love and care have put some meat back on Face’s slender body, and trimmed the last of the excess weight from Hannibal’s, and they had enjoyed working out together again, among other shared interests. “Already?”

“Sorry, kid.” One last kiss and Hannibal forces himself to stand. “Someone has to pay the rent around here, just like someone else has to do last night’s dishes.” He winks down at his sleepy, satisfied lover and stifles a laugh at the look of mock-horror on the kid’s face.

Face pulls himself up into a sitting position, the sheets pooling low around his waist as he leans back into the pillows. “They’ll be done, babe, I promise. I’ll get the grass cut today, too.” As Hannibal bustles around the room, picking up the last of his things, he continues softly, “Just be safe, okay?”

That brings Hannibal’s head up and around, and he remembers anew how much hurt had brought them to this point, how much grief and pain. “Always, Temp,” he vows, touching one hand to his heart briefly. After a moment’s hesitation, Face nods, smiling again, and Hannibal takes that as his cue to head out with a brief salute, his lover blowing a kiss after him.

The last thing he hears as he grabs his keys and heads out the front door is, “Have I told you lately how much I love a man in uniform?” And he laughs and laughs as he walks out into the morning sun.


End file.
